The Highest Good
by Joyce1
Summary: Two months after the close of GoF, the battle against Voldemort begins in earnest, and Ginny must find her place in the struggle. **Updated. (Unbeta'd Chapter 7)
1. Mala Fides

**The Highest Good**

_Disclaimer:  I am not JKR.  I make no money off of playing with her fantastic characters, but I do derive quite a lot of pleasure from it.  Cheers! _

Chapter 1: Mala Fides

Summer had come once again, but this year the freedom it brought seemed oppressive rather than gratifying.  There was too much time, Ginny decided, to think.  She wished there was something she could do – something tangible, something difficult -- something dangerous, even – so long as it was _something.  The two months of dwelling on the transformations wrought by the Triwizard Tournament were making her go stir-crazy. _

Following the terrifying narrative Harry had delivered with empty eyes from his bed in the Hogwarts' infirmary, things in the wizarding world had begun rapidly to change.  Even the unfailingly cheerful Mrs. Weasley's face developed a look of grim determination as reports of "tragic accidents" and "unexplained occurrences," usually fatal in nature, slowly saturated the news reports.  Cornelius Fudge, true to his word, refused to acknowledge the return of Voldemort, although it was well known that Ministry officials were being assigned in droves to cases involving the Dark Arts.  Both Mr. Weasley and Percy became virtual strangers at the Burrow as summer wore on; their respective jobs kept them at the office until so late at night that often it seemed more sensible to just conjure up a pair of cots than to Apparate back home.  The strain of such work had begun to tell upon both the older and the younger Weasley: Mr. Weasley, when he could come home, was too tired to tinker with his Muggle machines, and Percy had lost his arrogance somewhere in a mountain of paperwork.

_So this is Voldemort, Ginny thought as she sat alone in between the rows of cabbages and carrots in the Burrow garden.  Not a gleaming-eyed adversary, not a life-draining diary, not even the death's head mark floating over crime scenes that the Daily Prophet carefully ignored.  Voldemort was the tired lines under her father's eyes, and the quiet, level voice of her mother, drawn taunt with barely-contained anxiety._

"Voldemort," Ginny breathed quietly, glancing over her shoulder as though saying his name might cause him to suddenly appear.  Ron had come home from Hogwarts at the beginning of the summer seeming years older, and the first sense Ginny had of her brother's sudden transformation was his refusal to avoid Voldemort's name any longer.

"It's just a word," Ron had answered, tight-lipped, when his mother flinched the first time.  "If we avoid it, then we've admitted to being afraid of him.  And I won't," Ron had said, standing up and looking for all the world like Charlie had when he announced that he was leaving for Romania to chase dragons.  Adult.  Serious.  Her parents looked at each other and, slowly, nodded.

And so, one by one, the Weasleys had dropped the habit of referring to Voldemort as "He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named," and "You-Know-Who."  It was hardest for Ginny, for, although she had been too young to remember his first reign of terror, her imagination and her first year at Hogwarts gave grim color to the horror stories she had been told and her tongue seemed unable to form the word.  Just that morning she had finally managed to ask her father if there was any news on Voldemort, and his eyes had widened as he heard her low voice calmly glide over the name as though she had been saying it forever.

"What?"  Mr. Weasley had asked, caught off-guard by his daughter's daring.

"I said, has there been any more news on Voldemort?" Ginny said a bit more loudly than necessary, carefully enunciating the word.  The twins, huddled over the comics in the breakfast nook, glanced up at their sister in shock.

"Say that again, Gin?" Fred asked, wiping smears of strawberry jam from his face.  George's mouth had gone slack around a bit of bagel, and he stared at her in surprise.  Ginny was annoyed.  So she wasn't the bravest thing in the world; so it had taken her longer to use Voldemort's name than the rest of them; still, she wasn't a coward.

"Has. There. Been. Any. News. About. VOLDEMORT?"  She roared the last bit and was gratified to see the twins recoil at the volume.  Mr. Weasley looked at his youngest child with a sort of bemused pride.

"Not recently," he said, smiling a little.

"Good," she had said quietly, reaching across the table to steal a page of the funnies from George, attempting to return the suddenly tense atmosphere of the kitchen back to its former jovial air.  "Fred, don't be such a pig – I want some jam, too, you know."  Her brother grinned, and talk at the table soon moved on to such fascinating topics as the correct proportion of Swelling Serum to Bilbry's Balloon Bits in the twins' latest...experiment.  

Ginny toyed idly with the garden trowel, half heartedly digging holes for the new plants her mother planned on setting out the next day.  No news.  No news meant a variety of things: no mass murders or abductions, to be sure,  but no news on Voldemort's location or plans to stop him, either.

_It's not fair! Ginny drove the trowel into the earth with a sudden burst of anger.  __If the world is about to tumble about our ears, I'd like a fair shot at fighting.  Dad and Percy are at the Ministry, Bill and Charlie are up to something__, Mum's got some sort of job for Dumbledore, what with all those owls she sends out every morning, the twins, well, they seem to know what's going on,__ at least, and Ron – Ron's in it with Harry.__  And I'm stuck digging holes for Mum's monkey grass.  _

That was what was so horrible – the feeling of uselessness.  Ginny knew there were certain things that the family kept from her, the Baby of the Family, and she didn't half like it.  She was just as trustworthy and brave and competent as they were, thankyouverymuch, and she desperately wanted be let in on whatever it was that she didn't know.

"Ginny!"  Mrs.  Weasley's voice rang out across the garden, "Supper's almost ready!"  Ginny sighed.  At least in the out in the garden she could hear herself think; she was in no mood to watch the twins torment Ron with their latest creation – what was it? Flavored Inflation Serum?  Ginny shook her head.  She didn't even want to think about what that could do.

"Ginny!  Supper!"  _Won't be much longer, now, Ginny thought, mentally counting down her remaining seconds of freedom.  __Five...four...three...two --_

"GINNY!"  -- _one.  Right on schedule.  Mrs. Weasley's voice had reached its critical volume: to ignore it any longer was to risk certain death._

"Coming, Mum," Ginny called back, brushing the dirt from her knees as she stood up and headed back toward the Burrow, steeling herself for the chaos that awaited.

***

Ginny entered the kitchen and was immediately accosted by three different strains of conversation.

"—but the Cannons are really on to something this year if you ask me, what with their new Seeker and replacing Grifith with Maddox – I say, that bloke's a real find – devilishly good Keeper, don't you think?"  Ron looked at Ginny for her opinion on his Quidditch scouting report, but before she could pass judgment –

"Ginny!" The twins pounced.  "Our favorite little sister," Fred declared, throwing his arm about her shoulders, as Ron continued to ramble on about the merits of an eleven-wizard roster versus the traditional nine.  Ginny decided to overlook the obvious comment about her being their only sister in the hopes of being left alone.  "You look ravishing today, Gin," George winked at her, "The smudged-face look does wonders for you, you know – wouldn't be surprised if you turn out half decent looking after all."  Fred ran his fingers through his hair.  "Of course, it does run in the genes," he said, "pity you're not as pretty as George, though." 

Mrs. Weasley's voice wafted into the room.  "Ron, go fetch your sister and make sure she hasn't fallen into her own holes...honestly, that girl – I've called her three times already –"  Mrs.  Weasley bustled into the kitchen, looking frazzled.  "Oh, there you are, Ginny.  Be a dear and set some extra places at the table, would you?"  She handed Ginny a stack of chipped plates and motioned towards the magically-elongated dining room table.  "You two," she barked, glaring at the twins, who were edging out the door, sensing an assignment coming their way, "I need you to tidy your room, double quick.  You too, Ron.  And one of you, conjure up two – no, I'll have to Transfigure the cots myself – oh, and I'll have to double the recipe now..."  Mrs. Weasley broke off, doing mental calculations of whatever it was that had her in such a tizzy.

Her children stared at her.  "Mum?" Ron ventured, "Someone coming over for supper?"  Mrs.  Weasley didn't appear to have heard.  She turned to the stove and muttered something.  The merrily bubbling pots doubled their size, and she dipped a spoon into one of them.  "More rosemary," she said to herself, Summoning a spice tin. 

"Mum?"  The twins crept carefully towards Mrs. Weasley.  "Something wrong?"  Mrs. Weasley still didn't answer, though her mouth grew very thin and tight.  She sprinkled the rosemary into the simmering pot, and then covered it again.  Ginny and Ron exchanged nervous glances.  It was well known in the Weasley clan that whenever Mrs. Weasley was upset she barricaded herself in the kitchen.  Ginny remembered a time when Percy had come down with a particularly nasty bug when he was younger; they'd been up to their necks in biscuits and pies and cakes for months to come.  Mrs. Weasley sighed, and her shoulders lost some of their rigidity as she turned from the stove.  Her face was tired, and her eyes suspiciously bright.  _Mum looks **old, Ginny thought, shocked.**_

"Yes, dears, someone's coming over for supper."  Mrs. Weasley's voice was drained, colorless.  "And they'll be here soon enough.  So, please, go do what I asked."  And she turned back to the stove, her demeanor brooking no more questions.  

The twins, Ron, and Ginny left the room quietly, Ginny balancing the stack of plates she held against her.  "Wonder what all that was about," George said in a low voice, as he, Ron, and Fred made their way up to their rooms.  Ginny began to set the table, counting the number of additional places her mother had indicated.  _Five.  Five extra seats. __But whoever for? she wondered as she went back into the kitchen._

"Need any help, Mum?" Ginny asked as she watched her mother scuttle about the tiny room.  

Molly Weasley was a woman possessed.

"Hmm?" With a quick flick of her wand, Mrs. Weasley lined up the serving dishes on the counter.  She bent down and peered into the cabinets under the sink.  "Oh, no, dear.  I've got everything under control," she said as she wrestled a salad bowl that had evaded capture out from its dark hiding spot.  The  salad bowl snarled, snapped at Mrs. Weasley's hands, and dove under a nearby double boiler.  "Blast," she muttered.  "Knew I shouldn't have bought that self-tossing bowl.  Nasty-tempered thing."  Mrs. Weasley had reached for her wand again when there was a sudden whooshing noise from the fireplace.  Mrs.  Weasley straightened up.  "Here they are, and hardly anything done," she wailed, flailing about the kitchen, trying to tidy things up at the last second.  

Ginny looked curiously at the flames.  They parted, and out stumbled – Harry Potter.

 __


	2. In Through the Ashes

Chapter 2: In Through the Ashes

Ginny froze; she was helpless to do anything else.  Harry staggered away from the fireplace, glancing wildly about him.  He looked more than anything, Ginny thought, like the injured fox she had found several years ago in the glade near the Burrow – ready to fight with a desperate ferocity anything that came too near, but at the same time achingly vulnerable.  He clutched his right arm against him, and Ginny flinched to see the strips of rust-spotted cloth peeking out beneath the sleeve of his torn Muggle flannel shirt.

"Oh, HARRY!" Mrs. Weasley cried, abandoning the snapping salad bowl and rushing towards the shaking figure.  Harry seemed to recognize Mrs. Weasley and allowed himself to be caught up in her arms without protest.  "Oh, you poor dear," she said, her voice catching slightly.  "Ginny, could you hand me my wand and fetch some bandages?"  She turned her attentions back to the black-haired boy as Ginny hurried out of the room.

Ginny trembled as she grabbed the bandages.  Something was wrong.  Something was very wrong.  She hadn't been allowed in the hospital wing after the end of the Third Task – she had instead sat curled up on her bed in Gryffindor Tower, trying desperately to muffle the harsh sobs that seemed determined to come.  The same sickening pressure from that horrible day was settling on her chest now.  Harry Potter was many things – ordinary boy, extraordinary wizard, her brother's best friend, her long-time crush – but most of all, he was safety, protection.  The idea that everything was going to be all right.  And the same boy who had defeated Voldemort as an infant and dueled with him again two months ago, who had also saved her life nearly three years before, was now trembling in the kitchen, unable to say a word.  

Ginny hastened back to find her mother kneeling over Harry, who was now stretched out prone on the kitchen floor.  She handed her mother the items.  "Do me a favor, Ginny?  Bring a chair over and prop his legs up on it-- bit of a Muggle trick, but it does help," she said, examining his injured arm.  "Poor dear passed out..." Ginny bit back a gasp as Mrs. Weasley carefully removed the old bandage from Harry's arm.  Her mother seemed likewise appalled.  "My stars-- she said brokenly,  "_Why they even __considered sending him by Floo powder-- the very idea-- in his condition?  He could have gotten off __anywhere--"  She looked at the horrible gash.  A few bandages would hardly do anything for a cut like-- like __that.  "Wait here.  I need to fetch my medispells book," Mrs. Weasley said, handing the bandages to Ginny as she ran out of the room.  "Hold those against his arm, Ginny, in case it starts to bleed again."_

Ginny pressed the bandages against the crook of Harry's right arm, examining the unconscious figure in front of her.  Harry was always pale, but now his face was drained of any faint flush and was replaced by a frightening translucence, made even more evident by the smudges of ash and soot from traveling by Floo.  Ginny reached with her free hand to wipe the soot from his forehead, but the smudge settled in the faint line of Harry's scar, making it even more striking: soot-black edged in a sort of vivid scarlet.  Ginny shivered; the scar which had always just been there-- albeit through horrible  circumstances-- suddenly seemed much more malevolent.  _Like a brand, Ginny's mind supplied.  She took his glasses off his face-- the left lens was cracked-- and set them on the floor.  Although she was terrified, Ginny couldn't help but brush Harry's fringe back from his forehead, just to know the feel of his hair twined around her fingers. _

Ginny withdrew her hand suddenly as another loud _Whoosh! came from the hearth, the flames parting this time to reveal Albus Dumbledore, followed shortly by Professor Lupin and a large black dog, and, to Ginny's further surprise, her brother Charlie.  They looked grim and haggard to a man, even Professor Dumbledore.  Ginny shivered at the blue eyes behind Dumbledore's spectacles; they were intensely focused, devoid of their usual light and warmth._

"Thank goodness he made it all right," said Lupin, obviously relieved, as the dog whined and rushed over to Harry's side.  Ginny instinctively threw her arm out to bar its access to Harry, and the dog growled threateningly.  Ginny glared at it, daring it to come any nearer.

"It's all right, Miss Weasley," said Professor Dumbledore, putting a reassuring hand on her shoulder, "the dog is quite well trained.  He won't harm him."  Ginny lowered her arm and the dog lay down beside Harry, peering anxiously at him.  Mrs. Weasley returned at that moment, scanning the pages of a large brown volume entitled _Emergency Spells of the Desperate Medical Sort.  _

"Oh-- thank heavens you're here, Professor," Mrs. Weasley said breathlessly.  "Harry-- I had no idea it was so very bad, and I wasn't sure it was safe to send for the healer, considering...."  Her voice trailed off, as she finally saw her second-eldest son standing by the hearth, still.  "CHARLIE-- what are you-- oh, you weren't _there, were you?" she said, staring at his torn robes and the dark bruise coming out under his left eye.  "Are you all right, love?  Oh, dear.  Sit down and let me get you some ice," she said, fluttering about the kitchen.  Ginny looked up to see her older brother wink at her, as though to say, __I'm all right-- you know how she gets.  Ginny gave a half-hearted smile, still dazed at the whirlpool of activity. She started suddenly, looking back down at Harry, who had just stirred gently under her hand._

"I think he's coming round," she said to Professor Lupin, who was standing at her elbow, "shouldn't we-- ?"  She wasn't quite sure what they should do, in all honesty, but really-- shouldn't Harry be in a bed?  The floor was terribly hard.  And it wouldn't hurt to have someone qualified look at the gash on his arm.  Professor Lupin seemed to understand Ginny's train of thought, and cleared his throat. 

"Professor, I think it best we get Harry to bed," he said, addressing the Headmaster.  Dumbledore nodded.  "Molly, is there a spare bed where we can let him rest?"  Mrs. Weasley dropped the ice pack she was bringing over for Charlie.

"Of course.  How thoughtless of me-- just leaving him on the floor... what was I thinking?"  She shook her head, as though trying to clear it.  "All the way up the stairs and to the left-- he can have Ron's bed, and Ron can move in with the twins."  She paused.  "That-- cut-- on his arm needs to be healed.  I don't think I can do the job properly... is it safe to call the local healer?" she asked, looking at Dumbledore.  "She's very discrete," Mrs. Weasley added.  

Dumbledore shook his head.  "I am certain she is," Dumbledore said slowly, "but we cannot take the risk.  I will contact Madam  Pomfrey; she can be trusted.  May I use the fire in the living room?" he queried.  Mrs. Weasley nodded and Dumbledore exited the room.  Ginny watched him go, feeling foolishly like crying.  She looked down at Harry to try to force back the stinging in her eyes.

Harry's eyes blinked open, and Ginny felt him tense under her grip.  "Wha--?" he croaked out, trying to lift his head to look around.  Dazed and without his glasses, he looked about blindly, unable to recognize anything around him.  His eyes landed on Ginny's face, hovering just above him.  "Ginny-- where're the others?" he asked, his green eyes searching hers desperately.  Ginny tried to sooth his worries as best she could.  "Dumbledore and everyone are right here.  It'll be okay," she said in what she hoped was a comforting voice, not really sure if she believed it, but hoping that Harry would.  He seemed to relax a little at her words.  

"Let's get him up to bed," Lupin said, looking at the large dog, which was nuzzling his nose in Harry's undamaged hand.  "Harry," he said, crouching down near the injured boy, "do you think you can make it upstairs?"  Harry responded by taking his feet off the kitchen chair, and easing himself into an upright position.  Ginny felt rather than saw him wince.  "'M okay," he said through gritted teeth, seeing her face go pale.  "Just gotta get up--."  Lupin helped Harry to stand, and the two of them, followed closely by the dog, inched their way upstairs.  Harry looked unsteady, and Ginny hoped that he would make it to bed without fainting again.  

Left suddenly alone in the kitchen with her mother and Charlie, the terrifying strangeness of the last twenty minutes finally hit Ginny full force.  She got up from the floor on shaky legs and looked to her mother for answers.  "Mum, is-- why-- what _happened?"  Her mother stopped fussing over Charlie, who was fighting off Mrs. Weasley's mother hen tendencies tooth and nail ("Honestly, Mum, I'm __fine!  I promise-- it's just a black eye, not a dragon bite!"), and turned to look at her daughter.  Ginny swayed slightly on her feet, but her white face was unnaturally serious; she wanted answers.  "What happened to Harry?  I though Dumbledore said he'd be safer with the Muggles."  Her mother stayed silent.  "Why are Professor Lupin and Dumbledore here?"  Ginny looked at her older brother, hoping for a response.  None came.  "And you," Ginny said, looking at Charlie when she realized that answers would not be forthcoming, her voice rising slightly, "I thought you were in Romania."  Charlie shuffled uncomfortably in his chair._

"Sorry, Gin," he said, twisting the ice pack in his big hands, "I couldn't exactly say anything."  

Her mother nodded behind him.  "Don't blame your brother, dear.  I didn't know where he was, either," she said, glancing back at the stove.  "Oh!" Mrs. Weasley cried, "Supper!  It will have been ruined by now....  Oh, just my luck."  Mrs. Weasely turned back the pots rattling away on the stove, and muttered a frantic "_Retroago!"  _

Ginny sighed.  With her mother trying to undo the damage done to her potatoes during the past twenty minutes of neglect, she knew there wouldn't be any offered answers in the near future.  Charlie smiled sympathetically at her.  "Hang in there, Gin," he said, patting her shoulder in what Ginny had come to recognize as the patented Big Brother Comfort Gesture.  "We're not trying to keep things from you, you know."  

Ginny laughed emptily.  "I know.  That's why no one will tell me anything.  Not you, not Mum, not Dad – even Ron watches what he says around me-- because goodness knows I can't handle it."  She shook off Charlie's hand.  "I'm not exactly made of glass, you know."  _Although I do feel a bit shattered right now.   And Ginny, hoping to find answers elsewhere, marched out of the kitchen, leaving a very shame-faced Charlie in her wake._

***

Intending to go and see if Harry was any better, Ginny started up the stairs-- and nearly ran into Ron on the second flight, who was taking the steps three at a time.  "How's Harry?" she asked, judging from his demeanor that he was aware of the recent arrivals.  "Dunno," Ron said, frustrated, "They wouldn't let me see him.  Won't even tell me what happened."  Ginny snorted.  "That makes two of us," she muttered, heading back down the stairs.  

"Four of us, actually." Fred and George poked out of their room, now crowded with cots.  "Want to fill us in on the details, Gin?  Aside from 'Harry's here, and something's rotten in the state of Denmark,' preferably, because we've already figured that much out."  Fred motioned for them to come in, and George looked uncharacteristically solemn.  Ginny made herself comfortable on one of the beds, related what she knew, which, admittedly, wasn't much.  Ron and the twins sat silently for most her description-- Ron started at the mention of the black dog, and Ginny made a note to ask him about it later.  

"What was the matter with his arm, Gin?" Ron asked.  "You said it was pretty gruesome."  

Ginny shuddered and nodded.  "Did Professor Moody cover curse wounds in your Defence Against the Dark Arts classes last year?" she asked her brothers.  

George assented.  "We only brushed up on them in sixth year – Lupin covered 'em pretty thoroughly with us the year before, but the pictures he showed were pretty horrible."  Fred nodded in agreement with his twin.

"It must have been a curse wound," Ginny said quietly.  "And a powerful one at that.  I don't know what else it could have been.  But how he got it – I mean, a curse like that would have been highly localized...so why on earth would whoever cast it focus on his arm?  Why not just aim for his head, or chest?  It would have done the job, if they were trying to... kill... him...."  Ginny's voice trailed off into the silent room.  Ron seemed to be miles away, as though he were working out an extremely difficult Potions essay.  His face blanched suddenly.  

"Which arm, did you say?"  Ron asked, in a strange, sort of tightly-wound voice.  "His right, I think," Ginny answered, picturing the scene in the kitchen.  "Yes, his right arm.  At the elbow."  Ginny watched in amazement as Ron leapt to his feet and rushed out the door.  "Since Ronniekins seems to have something he doesn't want to share with the rest of the class," Fred said dryly, "maybe we should adjourn this meeting and go try to figure out what the blazes is going on."  

"Hear, hear," seconded George, getting up to follow his younger brother's example.

Leaving the room, Ginny and the twins nearly crashed into a distracted Professor Lupin coming down the staircase.  George and Fred collided with a mutual "Ufgh!" in an effort not to run over their former Defense Against the Dark Arts Professor. 

"Professor, how is Harry?"  Ginny asked apprehensively; Lupin looked so tired and grim that she was almost afraid of the answer.  

 "Madam Pomfrey just Disapparated," he answered, his face softening at the sight of her worried expression.  Ginny found his even voice strangely comforting.  "She worked on healing his arm and replacing some of the blood he lost, and gave him a draught for a dreamless sleep."  Lupin chuckled to himself.  "He's as bad a patient as James used to be-- really doesn't like that dreamless sleep stuff, although I can't say I blame him.  It does taste horrible."  

Ginny let out a breath she didn't know she had been holding.  "He'll be all right, then?" she asked, not caring if her concern gave Fred and George new teasing material.  Lupin smiled, and Ginny felt warm for the first time during the whole horrible evening.

"He'll be fine," Lupin said, starting back down the stairs, "I'm sure of it."  Her former professor sniffed the air delicately.  "If I'm not mistaken, I think it's time for supper."

***

It was an odd meal.  Mr. Weasley and Percy arrived just as they sat down at the table, seemingly not at all surprised to see Charlie, Albus Dumbledore, and Professor Lupin sitting at the extra spots Ginny had set.  _But there are two spots still empty, Ginny thought.  __I suppose one was for Harry, but that still leaves one.  I wonder who it's for?  Not that dog, obviously._

There was very little conversation at the table, which was strange for a meal at the Weasley's.  Usually one had to fight to be heard, but tonight all was silent except for the Dumbledore's occasional "Pass the peas, please," or "Excellent potatoes, Molly-- reminds me of a fine meal I had in Ireland about seventy years ago." 

Ginny felt she was going mad.  Something was obviously wrong-- rather earth-shatteringly wrong, if it had managed to tear Charlie away from his beloved dragons-- and they were having a dinner party?  Ginny's thoughts were interrupted by the Headmaster's voice.

"The others should be here soon," Dumbledore announced, looking at the clock, which was pointing to _Almost Time. "When they arrive, we can begin."  Ginny's mother and father nodded, as did the other adults at the table._

"What others?" Ginny asked, looking to Dumbledore.  He smiled, and a little of the missing warmth crept back into his eyes.  "Curiosity, Miss Weasley--" he began.  "Killed the little sister," finished Fred, smirking.  Mrs. Weasley glared at him.  "Aw, Mum, it's just whistling in the dark," he exclaimed, trying to squirm away from her gaze.  

Dumbledore chuckled.  "Curiosity, as I was saying, Miss Weasley, is an admirable trait.  Patience is another."  Ginny's shoulders drooped at Dumbledore's gentle recrimination.  

Dumbledore stood up at his place.  "Arthur, Molly – I need a word with you, Percy, and Charlie before the others arrive."  Ginny scowled slightly as Mrs. Weasley asked, "Will you four clear the table and work on the dishes, please?" motioning to Ginny, Ron, George, and Fred.  The twins and Ron groaned; dish duty in the Weasley family-- especially when one couldn't use magic-- was a task of epic proportions.  

***

"Wish Mum wouldn't cook so much when's she's upset," George moaned, as he picked the first of many, many pots out from the pile by the sink and began to scrub.  Ginny was still working on clearing the table, and picked up the two unused plates to put back into the cupboard.  "Wish she'd let us know _why she's upset," Ginny said through clenched teeth, still smarting from Dumbledore's reproach.  Ron, overhearing his sister, agreed.  "Yeah," he said.  "It's not like we're still in diapers.  We can handle it."_

_Pot calling the cauldron black, Ginny thought, angrily.  __It's not like you've ever left me__ in the dark about something, Ronald Weasley.  "Ron," she asked, trying to keep her voice neutral, "Why'd you run out of the room earlier?"  _

Ron looked up, startled.  "What'dya mean?" he asked, putting the now-dry dishes into the cupboard and avoiding her eye.  _You're a horrible liar, you know that, Ron? _

"After you asked about Harry's arm, you ran out of the room," Ginny prompted her brother. "Why?"  Ron's face showed a struggle.  

"Just wanted to go check on Harry, I guess.  Make sure he was okay.  All that talk about his arm made me worried about him."  Ginny wanted both to strangle and hug her brother at the same time.  She didn't doubt for a moment that Ron was really worried about Harry, but there was something else undoubtedly going on.  Ginny let it pass, and the four youngest Weasleys worked on in silence.

***

"Done, thank God," Fred announced as the last serving spoon was shoved into its drawer.  "No kidding," said George, sourly, nursing his hand.  "Don't see why Mum had to get that ruddy salad bowl."  His twin clucked, and pretended to kiss the miniscule scratch.  "There.  All better.  Besides, it's not the bowl's fault that your hand looks like a  giant crouton."  George regained the use of his hand in time to punch Fred as he walked by.

"Where are you going, Fred?" Ginny called, as her older brother headed for the door to the Burrow garden.  "Outside," came the response, "Got to keep in shape for Quidditch next year.  Besides," he said quietly, "it'll help clear my head."

"Mind if we join you?" asked his twin, looking at Ron and Ginny, who were also eyeing the door.  "We could play some two-on-two, I suppose, if Ginny's up for it."

"What do you mean, if I'm up for it?" Ginny asked haughtily, tossing the hair out of her face.  "You all know the only reason I'm not on the House team is because I'd run you boys into the ground."  Falling into a comforting banter over Quidditch with her brothers, Ginny, the twins, and Ron headed out to the broomshed.

But just as they emerged with their brooms in hand, Professor Lupin appeared, worried lines crossing his forehead.  "There you are," he said, relief etching itself over his drawn features.  "I came back down from checking on Harry, and you all were gone.  Come," he said, motioning to the Burrow, "please, go back inside.  It's not safe to be out tonight."  Ginny refrained from voicing the _Why? that immediately rose in her mind, and put her broom back in the shed, as did her brothers.  They walked in silence with Lupin back to the Burrow, where a cacophony of strange voices assaulted Ginny's ears._

"Ah," Lupin smiled as he opened the door to the kitchen, "the others are here."  


	3. Primus Inter Pares

_AN:  I know it's been forever and a day since I updated this, but fear not-- this is a long one, folks.  I've started work on chapter four, so maybe that'll be out before book five...?  Maybe?  Thank you to everyone who has left a review-- you've all been absolutely wonderful, and really know how to make a girl blush.  Thanks again, Dr. Cornelius, for your great advice and willingness to spend entirely too long pointing out punctuation errors.  _

_Disclaimer: Again, I'm not JKR.  I've not received any rewards for writing this, aside from the reviews people leave.  Therefore, don't sue me, unless you want a bunch of electronic reviews.  Another note-- I have never studied Latin.  Or Old English.  Please forgive me any errors in that capacity, as I had to rely (foolishly, perhaps) on internet tranlations._

***

**The Highest Good**

Chapter Three: Primus Inter Pares

"Lupin, you old dog!"  Ginny slid through the doorframe just in time to avoid being crushed by the rather rotund, red-faced man enthusiastically grasping Professor Lupin's hand.   

"Bardrick!  It's been far too long."  Lupin's face lit up, and the grin that broke out over his normally sedate features reminded Ginny eerily of the all-too-often seen smirks on the faces of the twins.  The smile faded slightly as Lupin added, "We really must try to find a better time for these reunions."  The other wizard nodded his agreement, and moved out of the way of the door.

"Sorry, there," he said addressing Ron, Fred, and George, who had remained outside behind Professor Lupin.  "Didn't see you.  Well, come on in.  Let's get this underway, then, shall we?" he said, looking around the kitchen for a consensus.  Ginny noticed for the first time that there were other people in the room-- odd, because the room was full to bursting.  But then, the man's presence was so large and jovial that it was hardly surprising that she had missed the scene behind him.  

Three strangers, two men and a woman, sat huddled together at the kitchen table, speaking in low, deadly serious tones.  One man, a thin, flighty-looking fellow, gesticulated wildly with long-fingered hands as he spoke.  The other man leaned back in his chair, fretful lines creasing his features, while the woman's face had a look of stony, self-imposed calm.  By the hearth, Mr. Weasley was speaking earnestly to Dumbledore, who chuckled slightly at whatever had been said.  An icepack-wielding Mrs. Weasley had cornered Charlie, while Percy sat primly in a straight-backed chair, looking slightly put-off by the chaotic scene.  Across the kitchen, leaning up against the cabinets was another person unfamiliar to Ginny; the lone man's face was completely unreadable, yet something of his countenance made her shudder slightly.  

Seeing that no one seemed to have acknowledged his suggestion, the red-faced wizard cleared his throat and tried again.  "H'm.  I say, hadn't we best get this thing going?  Or do you just propose we sit around and jabber all night?"  

"Right as usual, Mr. Doffle," said Dumbledore, as the room quieted.  "Perhaps we should move into the living room, where we can jabber, as you put it, to our hearts' content.  I'm afraid," he added, "tonight may be a long one," smiling apologetically to the room.  

"Then we'd best get started," said the man leaning against the cabinets, as he stretched and strode out the door. 

"Better follow Mr. Grell's example, I am sure," Dumbledore said, and the room quickly emptied.  Ron and the twins followed the adults and were just about to enter the living room when Ginny caught Ron by the arm.

"_Ron," she hissed, "what do think you're doing?"_

"Going to hear about whatever's going on, obviously."  Ron shook off her hand, and started to go on in.

Ginny caught him by his shirt collar and held on tightly.  "Idiot," she whispered, "They haven't invited us in-- Dumbledore didn't want us after dinner; why should he want us now?  Besides, he as good as told me to keep my nose out of their business."

"Yeah.  He told _you," Ron hissed angrily, turning an unbecoming shade of mauve due to Ginny's tight grip on his shirt.  "He didn't say a word about me and Fred and George, though.  Now, __gerroff!"  And with that Ron put his towering height to good use and weaseled his way out of her grasp.  He marched into the living room, followed by George and Fred.  Fred grinned lopsidedly at Ginny as he went through the door._

"Promise to tell you what it's all about, later."  He paused, and looked thoughtful.  "Unless, of course, we're bound to secrecy.  Don't want to have to kill you for letting slip state secrets, you know."

Ginny fought to control the urge to put her fist through the wall as the door slipped shut.  She thought briefly about borrowing some of the twins' "supplies"-- they had listening devices that would have made many a Muggle sleuth salivate-- but thought better of it.  If Dumbledore didn't want her to hear, then _fine. She wasn't going to beg.  She'd go upstairs and check on Harry.  __Sleeping draught or not, he shouldn't have been left alone, she thought, still seething._

She got as far as the staircase before the door to the living room opened.  Professor Dumbledore emerged, smiling benevolently at the redheaded figure.  

"I apologize, Miss Weasley," he began solemnly, "if I earlier gave you the impression that your presence was not desired.  You do, however, show a remarkable sense of propriety in waiting for an invitation before joining us."  His eyes twinkled behind his spectacles.  "Your brothers, it seems, are not burdened with such a marked refinement."  Dumbledore offered his arm.  "Would you do me the honor?"

Ginny felt her anger slip away under the elderly wizard's kind gaze.  She smiled abashedly.  "With pleasure," she said, taking the Headmaster's proffered arm.

***

Ginny felt slightly foolish entering the living room; everyone looked up as she and the Headmaster took their seats, and the low level of conversation settled into a silence.  Fred smirked at her, and she winced, knowing that there would be no end of teasing resulting from the events of the last few minutes.  Trying to get as far away as possible from her brothers, Ginny moved to the opposite side of the room and sat down by the fireplace, her back to the blaze.

"Hey, Firebrand, mind scooting over a bit?" came a voice behind her.  "You're blocking my view."  Ginny turned to see her brother Bill-- or at least his head.  The head jerked a bit to the right, and Ginny scooted obligingly.  Bill (or Bill's head, to be more precise) looked different, she decided, but she wasn't sure what the change was.  She pondered for a moment, then grinned.

"New earring?"  she whispered, gesturing to the shining bronze object dangling from Bill's ear.

"Phoenix talon," Bill replied, grinning.  "Thought it was appropriate.  Like it?"  Ginny nodded, wondered in what possible way the severed talon of a phoenix could be considered appropriate, and turned her attention to the center of the room.  

Dumbledore had settled himself into Mrs. Weasley's rocking chair, and rocked emphatically a few times before clearing his throat and speaking.

"I have to thank you all for being here tonight," he began, surveying the room.  "But before I can explain the need for tonight's gathering, I'm afraid there are a few among us who would benefit from some introductions."  Dumbledore glanced over at Ginny and smiled.  "I am afraid, my dear, that you and some of your brothers will not have met our members just yet."  Ginny flushed and shook her head, embarrassed that her ignorance was holding up what appeared to be something of great importance. 

"Not to worry," Dumbledore continued, "That problem can be solved relatively easily, I am sure.  Miss Ginny Weasley and Mssrs. Ron, Fred, and George Weasley, I would like to introduce you to our esteemed associates." He motioned first to the unknown woman who sat stiffly on the sofa.  "Ms. Tuesday Birchfald," he announced. The woman-- a neat, nutbrown and rather curvaceous figure of about thirty years of age-- smiled restrainedly at the boys, and turned to nod also to Ginny.  Ginny met her eyes (brown, like the rest of her) and thought for just a moment that her smile did not seem so forced.  

Dumbledore continued in his introductions.  "Mr. Mundungus Fletcher."  Ginny had heard this man's name before, but she couldn't quite remember where.  She decided the older man, about her father's age, looked like a nice sort of fellow, if a bit worry-wartish.  

"The illustrious Mr. Theophilus Herron," Dumbledore intoned.  The tall man perched on the ottoman had been aptly named, if anyone ever had: he was thin and nervous-looking, and his water-blue eyes seemed to take in everything around him in short, measured glances.  _Heron indeed, Ginny mused, __he looks as though he'll take flight in a moment-- a loud noise might frighten him off.  _

"Mr. Bardrick Doffle," Dumbledore nodded in the direction of the red-faced wizard sitting comfortably in the threadbare wingback in the corner.

"Pleasure's all mine, I'm sure," Mr. Doffle said, affably.

Dumbledore's glance lighted on the final unknown face.  "And Mr. Nicodemus Grell, of course."  The silent man inclined his head slightly in recognition.  Ginny studied his face curiously, but was able to make nothing of it.  His features were regular, he wore no evident scowl, but something about Mr. Grell made her uneasy.  Ginny looked quickly away.

Dumbledore leaned back into the chair, the fingers of one hand drumming softly on one armrest.  "Now," he said, "I believe that takes care of the introductions; the rest of you are well acquainted, I assume, since most of you are related."  He sighed softly.  "The rest of what I must say, I fear, will not be half so clear, nor so simple."  He paused, and Dumbledore-- for the first time in Ginny's recollection-- seemed uncertain what to say.

***

"I know I need not convince any of you present of the very real danger we are prey to in our current times," Dumbledore began quietly. "It is evident that, whatever the Ministry decides to say on the matter, Voldemort has returned.  He has been returned to his body, making him capable once more of independent movement and strength.  We know from Mr. Potter's report that Cedric Diggory was killed on arrival."  Dumbledore looked grim, and continued, his voice growing stronger.  "Mr. Potter has told us that Voldemort was resurrected by a spell that used his blood as one of the key ingredients.  I believe it would behoove us to look further into the identity and effects of this spell, especially considering today's events."

Ginny shuddered; how awful it must be for Harry, knowing his lifeblood also allowed Voldemort to return to his reign of terror. Ginny remembered the cold, high cackle of Tom Riddle's laugh, a sound that often plagued her dreams.  Harry's must be ten times worse. 

"Most of you know this already," Dumbledore continued.  "However, we meet tonight about more recent events.  Two weeks ago I received an owl from Mr. Potter, informing me of something unusual he had noticed.  The letter reads as follows--"  Dumbledore drew a piece of parchment out of his robes, and adjusted his spectacles.  

_Dear Professor Dumbledore, he read, __I hope all is going well in the wizarding world.  I've not been able to keep up with the news as much as I'd like, although Ron and Hermione are doing their best to send me news clippings.  I thought it best to tell you about something I saw today-- I don't think it's terribly important, but better safe than sorry, right?  I was weeding the garden this afternoon, and stopped for a quick break about one, maybe half-past.  As I stood up, I saw two men in black robes looking at me from across the street, one or two houses down.  At least, I'm pretty sure they were looking at me; they might have just been looking at the garden, or the house-- my eyes aren't very good.  All the same, my scar started to hurt all of a sudden and I got a little worried.  I looked up a second later and they were gone.  I know they didn't run off-- the street's straight and there aren't a lot of places to hide, and they didn't take a car, else I would have heard it leaving.  So I figure they must've been wizards and either Disapparated or Portkeyed away, although they didn't seem to be holding anything-- but I don't know of any wizards that live in the area.  It's probably nothing-- it was awfully hot outside, and I may have imagined the whole thing, like a mirage.  No dreams lately.  Just thought you ought to know, Harry Potter.  Dumbledore returned the message to the folds of his robes and cleared his throat._

"This, of course, caused me great concern.  Harry has been protected to the best of our abilities since the death of his parents, as he would have been a target for the angry followers of Lord Voldemort even as a child.  Arabella Figg," Dumbledore lingered slightly on her name, "a dedicated member of the Order during Voldemort's first reign of terror, volunteered to keep an eye on the boy as he grew up, and report any possible threats in the area."  Dumbledore looked over at Ron.  "You, see, Mr. Weasley, Harry did not live solely around Muggles, as he believed.  And although it seems cruel, his relatives being as they are, he was better protected in a neighborhood of Muggles with Mrs. Figg to watch over him than he could ever have been in the wizarding world."

Ron looked puzzled.  "Then why is he here, if it's so bloody safe for him there?" he demanded.  

"_Ron!  Watch your language!"  Mrs. Weasley rebuked her youngest son._

Dumbledore seemed to be smothering a smile to no great avail.  "I see," he said levelly, "that Miss Weasley is not the only overly-curious member of the family."  Ginny had to fight back the urge to stick her tongue out at Ron and hiss "See?  It's not just me, idiot," across the room.  But that would probably be breaching all sorts of top-secret-meeting etiquette, so she made the very mature decision to keep her tongue where it was.  

"To answer your question, Ron," Dumbledore continued, suddenly serious, "Harry is here because it is no longer safe for him on Privet Drive.  When it was determined that he would have to stay with his aunt and uncle, Professor McGonagall and I, along with some of our best Aurors, worked to secure the area with wards and anti-Apparition spells, as well as a few other precautions.  Mrs. Figg, living as a Muggle, monitored the area faithfully for any attempts to breach the protected area, which extends three blocks in all directions.  Had there been any use of magic-- or simply the presence of another person capable of magic-- within  that radius, Mrs. Figg would have known, and would have notified me immediately."  He looked at the younger Weasley brothers, seated on the floor.  "Incidentally, boys," he said, "I must say that you gave poor Mrs. Figg quite a fright, showing up in the middle of the night in that car a few years back."  Mrs. Weasley glared at her wayward sons, and both Ron and the twins flinched, as though expecting yet another tongue-lashing.

"This is, of course," the headmaster continued, "the reason why Harry's letter was so very disturbing.  If the men were indeed wizards, which it appears they must have been, they should never have been able to Apparate onto the property-- and allowing that they were somehow able, they should have at least triggered the wards and alarms.  But Arabella, after I contacted her, found absolutely no trace of any magical persons having been there, excepting Harry and herself."   Dumbledore removed his spectacles, and polished the lenses slowly with the hem of his robe.  "You must understand," he said in a low voice, "the nature of the wards we placed around number four, Privet Drive in order to appreciate the difficult that lies in penetrating them.  They are not at all unlike the ones cast around Hogwarts, or-- for a slightly more exotic example-- the ones placed on the tombs of Egyptian pharaohs."  Ginny glanced at Bill's head in the fire.  He was listening intently to Professor Dumbledore, biting slightly on his lower lip as he had always done when working out a problem.  "To break these wards, to breach the security measures, one must be well versed in the Dark Arts.  It is possible, although difficult, to break a ward, but the ward will show damage when tested for weaknesses-- am I right, Bill?"  Dumbledore looked over to the hearth.

Bill's head nodded.  "You _can break a ward of that magnitude," he said thoughtfully, "but it invariably shows signs of attack.  You can even tell from the damage what sort of spell was used to break it-- leaves a trace of the magic in the ward's web.  Impossible to get past one without leaving a bit of a fingerprint.  The archaeomagias in Egypt rely pretty heavily on the remnants of damaged wards to reconstruct ancient spells.  A friend of mine was really into that stuff, showed me some techniques.  Comes in handy with the curse-breaking, sometimes."  He looked up at Dumbledore.  "You're certain there was no damage to it?"_

"I don't think so, my boy," Dumbledore said, shaking his head, "but that, of course, is what I'd like you to find out, if you would."  Bill nodded again, his phoenix-talon earring swinging with the motion. 

Ginny was puzzled.  Something Dumbledore said was wrong....  If getting to Harry was supposed to be so difficult then why--?  She raised her hand tentatively.  

Dumbledore raised his eyebrow slightly.  "Miss Weasley?"

"Sorry," she said quickly, her face turning rosy as the room turned to face her, "this is probably a really stupid question-- I know there's no such thing as a stupid question, but this one is, I'm sure-- the thing is, how did Ron and George and Fred manage to get past the wards, if they're so hard to break?  Shouldn't they have tossed them back, or repelled them somehow?  I mean," she said, nervously, "they got right through, and I thought that's what wards _do-- repel people I mean.  Not let them in, of course.  So..." Ginny's voice trailed off, "were they not working right, or something like that....?"  Ginny looked down quickly.  __Amazing what a room full of people can do for one's eloquence, isn't it? she thought wryly.  Three years at Hogwarts and she still botched up speaking in front of people she didn't know._

 "A very clever observation, Miss Weasley," Dumbledore said warmly.  "Good of you to recognize the loophole-- I'm sure you'll do excellently on the spell analysis portion of your O.W.Ls., when it comes time for you to take them.  Your brothers," he said," were able to cross the barriers because of a provision allowing all members of the Order to pass through the wards without hindrance, although they would set off the alarms."  Seeing her puzzled face, Dumbledore continued.  "Everyone in this room, Miss Weasley, is a member of the Order of the Phoenix-- provided they wish to be.  During the last reign of Voldemort, the Order was our only chance at defense.  Your mother and father, Harry's parents, Professor Lupin, Mr. Herron, Ms. Birchfald, Mr. Doffle, Mr. Fletcher, Mrs. Figg, and several others were key in the resistance against the Death Eaters."  Ginny looked to her parents, sitting side by side on the couch.  Her father found her mother's hand and held it tightly, and Mrs. Weasley smiled at her husband and lifted her head proudly.  

"Knowing that the time might come when we needed to act to protect Harry, we thought it best to leave the wards open to members of the Order-- and future members, as well."  Here Dumbledore looked to where Ron and the twins sat, listening intently.  "As it seemed that there would be a large quantity of Weasleys to contend with," he said, smiling slightly, "it was deemed to be a an acceptable risk to allow all of Arthur and Molly's children the same sort of provisions, as they would-- we hoped, and still do-- choose to become members themselves, one day."  Ron sat up straighter and nodded gravely.  The twins did likewise, and Ginny was amazed to see that neither of their faces concealed a smirk-- they were completely serious, for the first time in her recollection.  

Ginny felt a bit giddy herself.  She had wanted so badly to be a part of whatever had been going on, and here it was-- being offered to her by Dumbledore himself.  Just this morning (how long ago that seemed!) she had had to beg for information, had been afraid to speak the word "Voldemort."  And now, here it was: the truth, free and clear.  The chance to be regarded as an equal by not only her brothers, but by adults.  Suddenly Ginny was terrified.  She was fourteen-- _fourteen-- and she had just been asked to join the fight against the most horrible wizard in history.  __Well, that's not exactly true, her inner voice mused, __Dumbledore just said he hoped you would join the Order.  He didn't say you had to.  He might have meant that you could join up later, if you wanted to-- he said "one day," remember?  Ginny gave her inner voice a shake.  __I don't have to join now, true, she thought, __but how could I live with myself if I didn't?  I don't think I could ever look at Mum again without flinching, and Dad, and then there's Harry....  Ginny looked up, realizing the room was silent.  Dumbledore was staring intently at her, his blue eyes piercing hers as she met his gaze.  _

And, after what was probably the longest single second she had ever felt, Ginny nodded slightly.  Dumbledore smiled, and his eyes showed something that looked suspiciously like relief.  "Good," the old wizard said brusquely, pushing his spectacles up his crooked nose, "We'll make it official later."

"Glad you'll be with us, Firebrand," she heard Bill say in a soft voice.  "We need everyone we can get."  She turned and gave her brother a watery smile before Dumbledore started speaking again.

***

"Turning back to the matter at hand," Dumbledore began in the clipped tones of a military commander, "Harry's letter was highly disturbing.  High Dark magic must have been used in order to breach the wards, and with Voldemort's power rising, I felt it was best to increase the security around Privet Drive.  A cell of the Order, consisting of Tuesday Birchfald, Mundungus Fletcher, Remus Lupin, and Charles Weasley was sent to assist Mrs. Figg in her surveillance.  They arrived the day after I received Harry's letter.  Mr. Potter remained uninformed of their presence, as it was deemed unwise to worry him unnecessarily.  No trace of any magical trespass was found, although the search could not be very thorough, for fear of attracting undue attention."  Dumbledore paused, and sighed almost imperceptibly.  "This afternoon however, there was an attack on Privet Drive, presumably by agents working for Voldemort."  Ginny watched her father squeeze her mother's hand reassuringly and she, for all the heat of the fire behind her, shivered.  

Dumbledore looked at Charlie, and, picking up his cue, her brother cleared his throat to speak.

"H'm.  Well, we'd been taking shifts to watch the house and street, and I went on house watch at one this afternoon.  We'd been using a combination of concealment charms that Tuesday's been working on-- doesn't make you invisible, just unnoticeable.  Sort of a variation on Confundus charms, you know.  Everything appeared normal.  Arabella keeps-- kept-- records on the Muggles in the neighborhood... when they leave for work, what times they come home, number of people that reside in each house, things like that, so we knew what to look for, as far as unusual behavior went.  Tuesday and Fletcher had patrol duty at that time, and neither could detect anything out of place--"

"Not true."  Charlie's narrative was interrupted by Ms. Birchfald.  She looked uncomfortable being the center of attention, but continued undaunted.  She looked directly at Charlie.  "Remember asking me if all was clear past Number Seven?"

Charlie looked confused for a moment-- and then his eyes widened slightly.  "You didn't answer," he replied.  "I had to ask you again." 

Tuesday sighed.  "Right.  It wasn't that I hadn't been paying attention-- I had.  I didn't answer because _I couldn't hear you.  Something must've interfered with the Defero charm-- I definitely wasn't out of range."  She paused slightly, and her voice caught on her next words.  "I must've passed right by them.  Stupid of me not to notice... at the time I didn't think a few missed words were cause to sound the alarm."  Ms. Birchfald gave a twisted sort of grin.  "But then, I do seem to be skilled at getting others into trouble."  The woman's voice was hard, self-mocking.  There was something there, Ginny decided, that was still quite raw and painful, whatever it was._

"Well," Charlie started again, trying to breach the awkward silence, "since Tuesday and Fletcher both gave me an all-clear, I went round to the back of the house to check perimeters and all that.  Nothing seemed to be out of the usual, and I went back towards the fence to make certain there was no one who shouldn't be there.  After that," he said grimly, "I'm not rightly sure what did happen.  The next thing I knew I was pushed backwards, right off my feet into the rosebushes, a good four meters away.  There were two men in black robes in front of me-- dunno where they came from, they were just _there all of a sudden.  I pulled my wand and called for help, and then they came after me.  Odd, though-- they didn't seem to want to use their wands, for some reason.  They were pretty good with their fists, anyway," Charlie said bemusedly, gently touching the now-purple flesh below his eye.  "I couldn't get in a decent hit.  At any rate, a second after I shouted Remus and Theo came out of the house, and they tried to get the men in black off of me.  Once they had us in front of them, though, they started sending us backwards.  Still didn't use their wands--I'm not sure __what they were using, but it felt like every time I opened my mouth to cast something the words were forced back down-- like choking on your own magic."  He looked to the two other men for their agreement._

Mr. Herron nodded.  "Like shaking a bottle of butterbeer with the cork still in.  A build-up of pressure with no way to release it.  Quite an unpleasant sensation," he mused.

"Exactly," said Charlie, relieved to know he hadn't been alone in the impression.  "Anyway, they kept pushing us back around the side of the house.  Once we were out of reach of the door, the one on the left turned heel and went into the house...."  Charlie's voice trailed off, and he seemed at a loss as to what to say next.

"It's my fault," Professor Lupin said suddenly.  "I should have stayed inside."  Ginny winced at the heavy guilt in his voice.

"It was no one's fault, Remus," Dumbledore said gently, his low tones saddened.  "You could not have known.  You did your duty at the time, as Arabella did hers.  There was no more important task than that."  Lupin nodded, but Ginny knew that the guilt yet remained.  She was well-acquainted with guilt herself.  Particularly the type that was no one's fault.

Charlie's voice was soft, barely more than a whisper.  "She fought him-- we could hear her scream, but... there was the light, and--  Dear God, I could actually hear the bastard say the words."  His voice was queer and tight, and Ginny could hear the useless anger behind the words.  The room was silent, broken only by the occasional snaps from the fire behind her.  Ginny looked at her older brother, his lips drawn tightly together-- Charlie looked up at the ceiling and blinked rapidly.  _Another first, some part of Ginny's mind commented.  __I don't think I've ever seen Charlie cry._

Mr. Weasley's voice broke through the stillness.  "Arabella was a good friend and a great witch,"  he said thickly, his head bowed.  "At least it was quick."  There were murmurs of agreement from the others, all of whom were thinking, no doubt, of other possible fates poor Mrs. Figg could have been forced to endure.

The grim moment passed, and Charlie shifted in his seat-- the delicate spindle-legged chair (an heirloom from Ginny's great-great-aunt Matilda) was much too small for the active young man.  "H'm,"  Charlie cleared his throat, trying, Ginny thought, to steer away from uncomfortable emotions.  "It seems to me that the other wizard, the one who stayed with us, was waiting for the-- the light.  After he saw the flash through the windows, the bottled-up feeling stopped, and we could actually cast things-- but nothing seemed to hit him.  The second fellow came back outside, and the two of them finally pulled their wands on us.  I know it seems ridiculous," Charlie sounded apologetic at this point, "us being three and there only being two of them, but we couldn't seem to make headway at all-- they just kept pushing us backwards, round to the front of the house.  I'm not quite sure when Fletcher and Tuesday got there; I don't suppose I was paying much attention to that at the time."

"Quite understandable, I'm sure," interjected Dumbledore.

"The thing that really puzzles me, Headmaster," Charlie said earnestly, "is _why on earth they didn't kill us like-- like they did Arabella.  They could have, and very easily, since nothing we did seemed to have any effect at all.  But nothing they threw our way was anywhere near fatal.  Just Impedimenta and the like.  I don't understand it."_

"It was like they were trying to attract attention," said Fletcher.  "Lots of light and noise, right out there in front of the Muggles and everybody on the street.  Bold, if you ask me."

"I think," Dumbledore answered gravely, "that we may safely assume that they were trying to attract the attention of Mr. Potter."

"Well," said Mr. Fletcher, "if that's what they were aiming t' do, then they certainly did it.  Or at least they managed to get that aunt of his's attention.  The woman screams like a banshee... nearly jumped out of my skin when I heard her, running back towards the house.  Miz Tuesday and I got there at nearly the same time, just as all them came round to the front.  I ran in through the gate t' help the others, when out of the corner of my eye I saw Harry tearing out of Number Four. Didn't have his wand or anything, just was running hell bent for leather."  Fletcher smiled slightly.  "The Hat didn't make any mistake putting the boy in Gryffindor, to be sure.  James'd be right proud of him."  Fletcher shook his head.  "'Course, it was a reckless thing... he could have been killed.  Dunno what he thought he was going t' do-- but as soon as he was across the street and inside the gate, Harry started grabbing at his head.  Collapsed right there, clawing that scar of his.  Tuesday ran over to pull him aside, but they knocked her back."  He paused slightly.  "They knocked all of us back, somehow, and we couldn't move.  Seems like nothing moved, not even the Muggles on the street.  I couldn't even hear that blasted woman screaming anymore.  It was like everything was frozen... a version of Petrificus Totalus that included sound, in all directions.  I've never seen anything like it, m'self."  Dumbledore's eyebrow raised at this new information.  "Well, everything was frozen except Harry.  Except Harry.  I think he knew none of us could help him, and he found Tuesday's wand in the grass near him.  He looked like something awful was going on in his head, with his eyes all screwed up.  I'm surprised he managed to stand, let alone try a spell.  He tried Expecto Patronum, though I can't for the life of me understand why-- there weren't any Dementors around.  It didn't work, of course.  Just a good-sized wisp of silver... impressive, really, for using another wizard's wand.  But it didn't do anything, and then there was that horrible green light, and silence.  It was almost loud, it was so quiet-- I don't know how else to describe it.  I thought for a moment that they'd used Ava... the Killing Curse on him.  But that--  _feeling was missing.  You know the one, Arthur."  Mr. Weasley looked ill and nodded.  _

Fletcher swallowed audibly.  "Harry was lying on the ground, and there was blood all round him.  So much of it.  Then I saw Remus and Tuesday run towards him and I realized that I could move again.  Charlie and Theo and I went after those two fellows with everything we had.  They seemed surprised that we were back to ourselves... weren't expecting that.  Something'd gone wrong, I expect, because suddenly our spells were working and we were able to drive them backwards a ways.  Remus and Miz Tuesday had managed to pull Harry out of the way, but he still wasn't moving.  I really thought he'd gone.  We'd managed to push those bastards-- pardon, ladies-- back a little, but they did everything they could to hold their ground... wouldn't move out of Harry's blood, and nothing we did seemed to matter.  It was like once they'd gotten their feet in it they were twice as strong.  Odd as anything, I say."  

"In his blood, you say?"  Dumbledore asked sharply.  

"Yessir."  Fletcher nodded.  "They were standing right in it, and wouldn't move. Gruesome, really."

Ginny felt nauseated.  The image of the Death Eaters-- assuming that they _were Death Eaters, of course-- standing in Harry's blood played in her mind, and she knew that she would be seeing the picture later in her nightmares._

"Once they were in the blood they started casting the Unforgivables right and left-- not very accurately, really.  They seemed enraged, like.  I heard something over my shoulder, and turned my head for just a second, maybe less-- saw Harry trying to stand, with Tuesday and Remus pulling him back.  When I turned my head back, one of 'em had his wand in my face, and I figured that was it.  I'm not too clear on what happened then... my back was to it.  Remus had a better look, I think."  Fletcher looked over his should to the former professor, who sighed and took up the thread where he had left off.

"Tuesday and I had managed to get Harry out of the way of the fight, and were trying to stop the bleeding while the others dealt with the two men.  It took a moment to find where exactly the blood was coming from, but we eventually found it and began to work Staunching spells on his arm.  They helped a little, but he needed immediate medical attention, and I was honestly afraid he might die.  So when he not only regained consciousness but also stood, I was amazed.  We tried to pull him back, tried to get him to lie back down, but he pushed us away."  Professor Lupin looked over at Dumbledore.    "Now that I've had time to reflect on it, I don't think he was aware himself of what he was doing.  He didn't seem to be in shock-- just... distant, somehow.  Like something else was acting through him.  Based on what happened a moment later, I have no doubt that this was the case.  Just as one of the men prepared to curse Fletcher, Harry ran out into the middle of the yard, yelling something.  I couldn't make out all the words, but I caught part that sounded like '_ræcan se Leoht.'"  _

Lupin glanced quickly over to the headmaster.  "If he did say what I believe he said, then something extraordinary is going on.  I highly doubt that Harry is well-versed in the Old Faith, as that phrase would suggest he is.  At any rate, the spell did intervene, although I'm not certain exactly what it accomplished.  There was a pulse of brilliant golden-white light, a high, ringing noise, and the next thing I knew I was nearly five meters away from where I started, face down on the ground.  I immediately got up to find Harry, and he was exactly where he had been a moment before, still standing with his arm outstretched.  He seemed disoriented, and didn't speak. Where the men had been standing before there was nothing, nothing at all.  Everyone else was accounted for and seemed unharmed.  Harry's arm had begun to bleed again, probably because of the force of the spell he had cast, and we needed to get him somewhere safe immediately-- those two men might not have gone away for good, and we were afraid they would return.  The safest place for Harry would be, of course, back inside Number Four, so Tuesday and I carried him across the street.  Theo, Charlie, and Fletcher stayed to make sure the area was secure, and to deal with the Muggles who had seen the attack."  Professor Lupin paused slightly.  "There was one Muggle woman, Mrs. Gains, I believe her name was, who was hit by the Crutacius curse during the crossfire."

Mr. Herron confirmed this.  "The poor woman was out of her mind with pain.  Whereas the use of the Crutacius curse on a wizard only cause bodily pain as long as the curse is being administered, a Muggle affected by it will continue to feel the constant level of pain for the rest of their life," he said, regretfully.  "There was nothing we could do for her but to send for St. Mungo's.  Thankfully most of the other casualties were nowhere near as severe, just Leg-Locker and such."

"And, then, of course, there was the problem with the Dursleys," continued Lupin wearily.  "The blasted woman had seen everything, and wouldn't let Tuesday and I bring Harry inside.  Her own nephew nearly unconscious on her doorstep, and she wouldn't let him in."  Lupin's voice was edged with an anger Ginny had never heard before.

"Insufferable woman," Ms. Birchfald interjected angrily, "raving about how Harry was going to get her 'darling Dudiekins' hurt, and how she knew there would be trouble the moment her sister got her letter from '_that school.'  Fool of a Muggle.  __'I won't let any more of your kind in my house, you hear me?'"  Tuesday mimicked Mrs. Dursley's shrill voice with near perfection.  "__'I won't have that boy back inside this house, not now, and not ever!' and I believe she really meant it.  She wouldn't listen to a word of reason.  I got so fed up I tried an Obliviate on her, just to shut her up for a moment, you understand.  But it didn't work-- strange, because my Memory charms are usually quite sound-- she just screamed bloody murder and slammed the door in our face, so we had no choice but to take Harry back over to Arabella's, which is where we contacted Dumbledore to inform him of the attack."_

***

"And that," Dumbledore said with an air of finality, "brings us up to the present, I believe.  I of course contacted Harry's guardian and made arrangements for him to be brought here for the remainder of the summer.  I also sent word to the Ministry that they might need to do some containment in Surrey, which I believe they have already taken care of."

Ginny had been lulled into a passive listening state while most of the explanation was given, but she suddenly came back to herself, jarred by Dumbledore's matter-of-fact comment.

"Harry's guardian?"  she blurted out, looking at Dumbledore.  "You mean, his aunt and uncle?  But they already knew, didn't they?"

"Yes, they knew, Miss Weasley," Dumbledore answered patiently, "But that is not to whom I refer.  Harry's godfather, a close friend of the Potters, is his legal wizarding guardian, and needed to be told of the attack."

"Well, where is he?  Why didn't he come tonight?  Doesn't he want to make sure that Harry's all right?"  Ginny was outraged at the lack of attention Harry had received from the so-called godfather.  

Dumbledore chuckled.  "To answer your questions: yes, he did want to make sure Harry was all right, he did come tonight, and he is at the moment upstairs with Harry."  Seeing her disbelieving face, Dumbledore explained further.  "The black dog that came with us answers both to the name of Snuffles and Sirius Black."

Ginny bit back a horrified gasp.  "Sirius Black is upstairs?  But he's a _murderer!" she exclaimed.  "He can't be Harry's godfather!"_

"Well, he is, Ginny," she heard Ron say, his voice annoyed.  "and he's not a murderer.  I'll explain it all later.  Now shut up, will you?"  Ginny glared at her brother.  The rest of her family seemed to have taken the revelation of Harry's mysterious godparent quite easily.  _Of course they did, Ginny thought bitterly.__  They already knew about it.  Yet another breakdown of the Weasley family communication line. _

***

Dumbledore smiled benignly at the room.  "Well, I would say we have had quite enough grim talk for the moment.  I believe we have some business to take care of in the form of inductions, correct?"  He cleared his throat.  "George, Fred, Ron, and Ginny Weasley-- if you would be so kind as to step forward."  Ginny rose and moved to stand in front of the headmaster, her legs tingling from their long inaction.   

"I ask you now to consider yourself carefully," Dumbledore addressed them.  "It is true that we greatly desire you to join the Order, but it is not a decision to be made lightly, nor a promise easily broken.  Understand that there is a war going on, now and always, between good and evil.  You are all of you full young, perhaps, to have to make this choice, but it must be made someday, and it might as well be made now.  If you join us, and Voldemort should discover this, you will be marked.  This is a danger I will not conceal from you.  If, for any reason, you do not feel equal to the task, you may leave the room now, without any penalty or shame."  Ginny forced her feet to remain rooted to the spot, though part of her wanted to turn and flee.  

Seeing that the younger Weasleys all seemed determined to hold their ground, Dumbledore smiled.  "Good," he said, reaching into his robes and producing a scroll of parchment and a blood-red quill.  "Molly, is there an inkwell in the immediate vicinity?"  Mrs. Weasley dug around in the drawers of a nearby desk, producing a half-empty inkpot.  

Dumbledore drew his wand, and with a quick flick the parchment unrolled, hovering in mid-air, and a soft glow surrounded the scroll in gold light.  "If you still are of a mind to join with the Order, write _Me Libente Datare with your name next to it."  Fred stepped confidently forward and took hold of the quill.  A moment later, Ginny could see his name shine a brilliant gold, and disappear on the page.  George went next, his hand trembling slightly as he wrote the unfamiliar Latin words.  His signature also flashed gold and sank into the parchment._

Ron took the quill and stepped up to the scroll.  "I _will give," he told Dumbledore seriously.  "I'd give anything for Harry, you know."  He wrote out the phrase with a look of determination, and signed his name with a flourish.  Dumbledore smiled and briefly grasped Ron's hand.  "Welcome," he said warmly._

 It was her turn, Ginny knew.  Ron handed her the scarlet quill, and she walked blindly to the scroll.  She hesitated slightly, and, looking up, caught the headmaster's eyes.  "Do not," Dumbledore said in a low voice even she could barely hear, "mistake a sense of obligation for a true desire.  It is not wise to sign your name to anything you do not feel."  

Ginny closed her eyes.  Her hand hovered above the page, and her mind went suddenly blank.  _Pain, great pain, and a horrible wrenching in her hand--  Ginny gasped and opened her eyes, and saw her hand jerk away from the page.  It took every ounce of strength she had to force her hand back down, and write the words.  The feeling of resistance was gone the moment she finished scratching out __datare on the parchment, and, feeling somehow drained, she signed her name: Ginny Weasley.  The letters flashed gold, then turned a deep blood red.  They did not fade, as everyone else's had, but remained bold and clear for the world to see.  _

She looked up at Dumbledore, confused.  He smiled mysteriously, and rolled the parchment back up, and hid it back among the folds of his robes.  "What was that?" Ginny breathed, quietly, not wanting the others to know what had just happened.  "Why didn't my name disappear?"

"Too many questions for one night, Miss Weasley.  I must beg you patience once more, I'm afraid," Dumbledore returned, his voice still low and secretive.  Then, turning from her, he announced in his usual jovial tones, "And that, I think, is more than enough for tonight.  I rather exhausted, as I am sure most of you must.  Let us to bed, and we will finish this matter tomorrow."  Dumbledore stood up slowly from the rocking chair he had occupied.  "For those of you going elsewhere tonight, we will reconvene back here tomorrow at noon.  Hopefully then Mr. Potter will be in condition to give us his account.  Bill," he said, turning to the hearth, "do you think you will be able to be with us in person tomorrow?  Or must we once again make do with only a part of you?"

Bill grinned.  "Knew you couldn't get on without me," he joked.  "Actually, I've already put in for a few days' leave with my boss.  I should be there by noon, no problem." 

"Excellent.  Well, I will see you all tomorrow then."  Dumbledore made his way over to the door.  "Please forgive a foolish old wizard, but I fear my years of sitting up into the wee small hours have long since passed.  Arthur, Molly, thank you for your hospitality,"  Dumbledore said, bowing in their direction.  "And now, goodnight.  And take care, all," he added seriously.

And with a slight _pop! the old wizard was gone._

***

Ginny walked up the stairs to her room in the dark.  She had waited until everyone else had left before she doused the fire and shut the living room door behind her-- she didn't much feel like company.

Her head felt muddled, crammed full of disturbing ideas that she wasn't sure she wanted there at all.  Attacks and Killing Curses, puddles of blood and dark red letters that wouldn't fade were crowding out the comfortable old concerns that had been so deeply rooted in her thoughts.  _Is it worth it? she wondered to herself, sliding her hand up the cold banister.  __True, I know what is going on now, but am I better off knowing?  Were they right not to tell me?_

Before she could add this to the ever-growing collection of upsetting musings, Ginny was startled by a sudden noise from behind Ron's door.  _Harry, she thought, and pushed the door open gently.  Harry lay tangled up in the orange sheets on Ron's bed.  His right arm, thrown in sleep over his face, was wrapped in a clean white bandage.  He grunted softly and rolled onto his side.  It was only then that Ginny noticed the dark figure sitting beside him.  __Sirius Black, I presume, her inner voice proclaimed giddily.  _

"I'm-- I'm sorry," she whispered to the dark figure, as his head turned towards her.  "I just wanted to make sure he was all right."

"He's doing much better," Sirius Black said, his voice curiously gruff.  "You're Ginny?" he asked.  Ginny nodded, and made to leave the room.  "No,"  Sirius stood up from his seat.  "Stay, if you like.  I don't mind.  I could do with the company, to tell the truth."  Ginny paused.  An invitation to sit alone in a dark room with a convicted murderer would have sent her running this morning, but--

"I'd be glad to," she heard herself say.  


	4. Sciamachy

**The Highest Good**

Chapter Four: Sciamachy

***
    
            _This shaking keeps me steady. I should know._
    
    _                    What falls away is always. And is near._
    
    _                    I wake to sleep, and take my waking slow._
    
    _                    I learn by going where I have to go._
    
    _                                                             -Theodore Roethke, "The Waking"___

***

Something wasn't quite right.  Ginny, in that shadowy area between sleep and wakefulness, stretched her arms out slowly.  _Ruddy lumpy mattress, she thought fuzzily.__  Wish I could get a new one.  Her brain, however, was quietly insisting that a faulty mattress was not to blame for the horrible crick in her neck.  __Don' care, she told the voice.  __Too early.  Goin' back to sleep.  Her brain continued its insistence that something was amiss, pointing out that she didn't generally sleep in a semi-upright position.  Conceding this point, she blearily blinked her eyes open._

Lots of orange-- Ron's room, then-- and she was, for some unknown reason, curled up in a chair by his bed.  The sun, judging by the slant of the rays through the window, was barely up.  Ginny shifted in the chair, trying to find a comfortable position, fully intent on going back to sleep until a more reasonable hour, when--

The figure in the bed moved restlessly.  And she could see that the head resting on the pillow did _not have the brilliant red hair she had expected.  _

Ginny sat up, remembering the night before: climbing the stairs, peeking in to check on Harry, speaking to Sirius Black, and-- _I must have fallen asleep in here, she concluded, suddenly panicky and embarrassed.  She had spent the night at Harry's bedside... and the fact that she hadn't intended to would be completely irrelevant to her brothers.  She'd never hear the end of it.  __And what, she thought in horror, __would Harry think?  The possibilities were too terrifying even to consider.  Gingerly, she lifted the blanket off her lap (__Blanket?  When did I get up to get a blanket?) and slid silently out of the chair.  Ginny wobbled uncertainly on legs that had been tucked up underneath her too long, hoping against hope that she could make it to the door without tripping over anything and escape unnoticed._

Halfway to her goal, there was a soft noise from the bed behind her.  Ginny froze, terrified.  _Caught.  She resigned herself to the inevitable explanations and red-faced apologies, and turned slowly around.  _

She was instantly glad she hadn't said anything right away.  It seemed that Harry was still asleep, Ron's orange sheets tangled around his legs at the foot of the bed.  _Okay, Ginny, she told herself shakily, __this is the part where you sprint for the door and thank your lucky stars that he hasn't seen you yet.  But as logical as that thought was, her legs wouldn't obey.  They were suddenly twice as wobbly as they had been when she first got up, like a bad Jelly-Legs curse.  And no wonder.  Her brain, which had earlier been preoccupied with the horrors of being caught at Harry's bedside, was now fully grasping that Harry Potter-- __Harry Potter-- was not two meters away.  In bed, asleep.  And this was most definitely not an everyday occurrence._

 _Oh.  My.  He looks so different when he's asleep--  Ginny, forgetting herself, took a half-step nearer to the bed._

"Mmnphf."  There was that soft noise again.  This time it seemed to be more distinct...louder, somehow.  As though Harry were-- _ Waking up, you great idiot!  Get out of the blasted room!  Ginny shook her head, trying to clear out the cobwebs that had taken up residence, and made her way rapidly to the door.  She turned the handle and, willing the hinges not to creak (__Please, just this once...), slipped safely out into the hallway.  Ginny sighed in quiet relief._

_Well, that __was certainly an interesting way to start the day, she thought ruefully.  __Never mind a cup of coffee-- I think my heart's trying to break through my rib cage...  Ginny paused on her way down the staircase.  __Speaking of coffee.  There was a faint aroma of the brew drifting up the stairs, and, now that her heart was no longer thudding in her ears, she could hear someone rattling around in the kitchen.  __At this hour?  It can't be later than half five... and Mum and Dad drink tea, not coffee.  As she listened, there was a sudden clatter of pans followed by a muffled outburst._

"Sh... ruddy-bloody... son of a motherless _goat, that hurt!"  _

Ginny grinned and tripped quickly down the stairs.  There was only one person she knew who swore quite like that.  "I believe you owe me five Knuts, brother of mine," she quipped as she entered the kitchen.  Bill looked up from the sink, where he was holding his hand under a stream of water.  "You know Mum's policy on swearing."

Bill shot a grin her direction.  "Ah, but I didn't actually _swear, you see."  He turned off the tap and turned to face her.  "Good God, kid," he said, sizing her up, "I do believe you've managed to grow another foot since I saw you last.  You'll be taller than Hagrid, next time I see you."_

"Same two feet I've always had, actually," Ginny said grinning, taking a seat at the kitchen table.  "I grew about two and a half inches, though.  Mum's let down all my robes this year.  And," she added sweetly, "you know that Mum says it's the _intent that matters--" _

"--not the language used," Bill recited, searching his pockets for change.  He pulled out five Knuts-- most of which were covered with sand.  "Here you go, kiddo," he said, handing them to her.  "Put those in the Swear Jar for me, okay?"  Ginny dropped the bronze coins on the table and brushed the sand off her hands.

"Do you keep the entire desert in your pockets, or what?" she said, wrinkling her nose.  "Most people try to keep sand _out of their trousers."_

Bill ruffled her hair as he came to sit down at the table, coffee cup in hand.  "Well, _you try living in the desert for a while.  I've got sand in places I didn't even know I had...."  Bill sipped at his coffee and grimaced.  "Ick.  Vile stuff."_

"Then why drink it?"  Ginny asked, swinging her legs under the table, inadvertently kicking her brother.

"Ouch-- Jeez, Ginny, I've got enough bruises without you adding to them."  

Ginny giggled.  "Sorry."

Bill rubbed his shin thoughtfully.  "Anyway, I drink the coffee out of necessity.  Caffeine addiction and all that.  I've been told I'm about as pleasant as Snape with a wand shoved up his--  ahem, anyway....  I'm just not much of morning person without it."

"No kidding.  I don't think I've ever seen you up and about this early before."  Ginny bit back a grin.  Her earliest memories included her mother screaming for Bill to get his lazy such-and-such out of his bed, or he'd miss the train to Hogwarts.  "Anyway, how long are you planning to stick around?  I've missed you, you know," she added wistfully.  "Although I can't imagine why."

"It's because I'm your favorite brother, obviously, idiot."  Bill grinned into his coffee mug.  "Well," he said after a swallow, "I'll be here as long as Dumbledore needs me.  Told the little cretins at Gringotts that Dumbledore wanted me here, and they're not likely to whine about that.  Dunno why they think so highly of him, but they do."  He took another gulp of the coffee.  "So, how're you holding up?  I imagine that was quite a lot to get hit with at once last night...."

_Give the boy a prize, Ginny thought sardonically.  "No kidding," she said bitterly.  "How do you think __you'd handle it?  'Oh, by the way, Ginny, we've got some things we've been meaning to tell you: there's been a horrible mysterious attack, we're all a part of a dangerous resistance movement, we've got a convicted murderer under our roof....'  No, that wasn't a lot to take in."_

Bill winced.  "I'm really sorry, kiddo, I am.  And I'm sorry we didn't tell you, but--"

"But what?" Ginny demanded.  "And I swear, if you say 'But we just wanted to protect you,' you'll never be able to have children."

"Whoa, there, Firebrand."  Bill looked genuinely concerned for his reproductive safety.  "Let's not do anything rash."  Ginny managed a smile.  "Honestly though, Ginny, we really didn't mean to hurt you."  Ginny opened her mouth to argue, but Bill cut her off.  "Wait, let me finish.  We really _didn't mean to hurt you, Gin.  I can see how we must've, but you've got to look at it from our point of view."_

"This'll be rich," Ginny muttered.  She was rewarded with a swift kick in the leg.  "Ow!  That hurt, idiot."

"I know.  It was supposed to.  Now hush up, will you?  I'm trying to explain things here."  Ginny stuck out her tongue.  Bill rolled his eyes.  "I thought you were supposed to stop doing that after you turned eight," he said mildly.  "Now, to the point: you're the youngest.  And a girl.  Which would naturally make us all overly protective, anyway, but....  Then there was that thing your first year...." 

Ginny closed her eyes.  _Here it comes.  "Bill, I'm not stupid, you know?" she said, trying to keep her voice level and failing.  "I know I screwed up.  But I've learned my lesson, I swear I have.  You don't have to worry about not being able to trust me."_

"Not be able to _trust you?" Bill asked, leaning forward in his chair.  "That's not what I was going to say at all, Gin.  We know we can trust you-- that wasn't you, and we all know that.  And we know it wasn't your fault at all, no matter what you think."  Bill reached a hand out across the table and squeezed her hand.  "You beat yourself up about that too much, Firebrand," he said softly._

"I know," she answered.  "But it's hard not to."

Bill gave her hand another squeeze.  "I know.  And we-- Mum and Dad and Charlie and me, anyway-- beat ourselves up over it too.  Gin," he said quietly, "You almost died.  I don't think I've ever seen Mum and Dad so... helpless.  I don't think they could take something like that ever happening again."  He paused.  "So maybe that's why we didn't want you to know.  We thought that if you didn't know, you wouldn't be in danger, and we wouldn't have to risk seeing something like _that happen to you again."_

Ginny was quiet for a moment.  "It still doesn't make it right," she said softly.  "Other people have had to deal with worse things when they were younger.  Like Harry," she added in as an afterthought.

"Yes," Bill said slowly, looking past Ginny, "like Harry."  

***

Bill stood up from the table and cleared his throat.  "Good to see you, Harry," Bill addressed the boy in the doorway.  "How are you feeling?  We weren't sure we'd see you up and about this soon."  Ginny started.  _How much did he hear? she wondered.  __I mean, it's not like there was something he shouldn't hear, but still._

"All right, I guess," Harry's voice sounded thin. Ginny turned around quietly in her seat, trying not to stare.  Harry leaned against the doorframe, looking pale, but the frightening paper-white of the day before was gone, at least.  _He should still be in bed... Mum'll tie herself up in knots when she sees him up.  _

Something about Harry looked-- odd.  But aside from looking drained, there wasn't anything strange about his appearance...was there?  _Wait.  Ginny stood up suddenly._

"Your glasses!" she exclaimed, hurrying over to the mantle where Harry's broken pair had been set the day before.

"I was wondering why I couldn't see," Harry joked weakly as he sat down at the table and gave a sick imitation of a smile.  

"I don't know if they'll be much use," she explained awkwardly, handing them to him.  "They're broken."  _Oh, brilliant.  Like he couldn't tell there's a massive crack down one of the lenses.  Harry put on the glasses anyway._

"Well, now you're only blind in the _one eye...."  Bill said.  "Why don't you give those here?  I'll fix them right up."  Bill took Harry's glasses and made short work of the cracked lens with a brisk __Reparo!  "There you go.  Good as new."  Bill handed Harry back his glasses.  "You hungry?" he asked.  "Mum should be up in a couple of minutes," he said glancing at the clock, "but I can always handle pouring a bowl of cereal."_

Harry shook his head.  "Thanks," he said quietly, "but I'm not hungry."  Ginny and Bill exchanged a quick glance.  Harry looked pale and shaky; he really did need to get something in his system.  Harry must have noticed their silent assessment, because he added, "Really.  I'm fine."  Bill looked skeptical, but let the comment pass.

"Oh, by the way, Harry," Bill said casually, "I've got to make a trip over to Surrey this afternoon.  I thought I'd pick up your things, if you'd like.  Dumbledore says you're to spend the rest of the summer here, and I don't fancy you'd care to borrow Ron's things forever, unless you really like all your trousers to have four-inch cuffs."  

Harry sat up at the table suddenly.  He looked, Ginny thought, like he'd just remembered that a piece of homework was due two minutes before class began.  "Hedwig!" he said worriedly.  "I forgot... and they'll not feed her...."  He looked at Bill, who was pouring himself (yet another) mug of coffee.  "Do you think you could manage to get her for me?" he asked.

"Sure thing.  Just tell me where to look for things, and I'll bring back the whole lot."  Bill set down his coffee cup, and turned to rummage in a drawer in one of the cabinets.  "Better yet, how about you write it down for me?  I don't want to miss anything."  He handed Harry a piece of  parchment and a self-inking quill.

While Harry made a list of his belongings and their locations, Ginny quietly went and poured two glasses of pumpkin juice.  Hoping that Harry wouldn't think she was hovering, she set one glass down beside the parchment on the table.  Harry looked up at her, and for a moment she thought she caught a flash of irritation in his clear green eyes.  But the flash disappeared as quickly as it had come, and Harry just nodded.

"Thanks," he said, looking away. 

"You're welcome," Ginny answered, hoping her voice sounded matter-of-fact.  Trying to ignore the uncomfortable silence that threatened to set in, she continued quickly.  "You have really neat handwriting," she observed, looking at the overly-short list Harry had made.  _Fascinating, Ginny.  What a topic of conversation._

"I guess," Harry shrugged.  "It's better than Ron's, anyway."  He handed the list to Bill.  "That's everything, I think.  Thanks."

"No problem."  Bill sat down at the table opposite Harry, his countenance becoming more serious.  "Harry, are you sure you're okay?  Because it's completely okay if you're not-- sorry, that didn't quite make sense.  What I mean is that--"

"I understand," interrupted Harry sharply.  He rubbed his eyes and his face looked worn.  "I'm sorry.  I didn't mean to snap at you," he apologized.  "But really, I'm fine.  I promise.  I'm just a little tired."  

Bill nodded.  "That's all right.  I shouldn't have pried."  He paused, and listened to the faint stirring that could be heard coming down the stairwell.  "And unless you want to answer the same questions about eight more times, I'd suggest you disappear back to Ron's room and try to get some more rest.  Dumbledore will be back around noon, and I think he'll probably want to talk to you.  I'm sure we can leave you alone until then, if you like."

Harry looked relieved.  "Are you sure that's okay?" he asked.  "I mean, it's not that I don't want to see everyone... it's just I can't... I don't...."  Harry's voice trailed off and Ginny's heart broke to see the look of strain and panic creep back into his eyes.  Something inside her snapped, and before she could stop herself, Ginny reached across the table and laid her hand on top of Harry's. 

Harry started and his eyes met hers for a moment before focusing on the wall somewhere behind her head-- but he didn't move his hand.  Ginny felt lightheaded.  _Okay.  Okay.  Just-- lift your hand up and leave now before you make a fool of yourself.  But her hand was suddenly lead, too heavy to lift, and every nerve in it sang at the contact with Harry's skin.  His hand was warm under her palm, an almost feverish heat, hot-- __It burns._

Ginny gasped slightly and withdrew her hand, snatching it back as though she had just laid it on a stove.  Harry had moved his own hand off the table, and looked at Ginny curiously, rubbing the back of his hand nervously with the other.

"I'd better go--"

"I'm so sorry--"  They simultaneously rose from the table, Harry bumping into a chair on his way to the door, and Ginny fussing needlessly with the tablecloth.  Bill leaned back against the cabinets, silently watching the proceedings.

Harry paused at the door.  "Er-- thanks, Bill."  He flexed the fingers in his right hand, staring blankly at the back of his hand.  "Ginny."   He looked up at her, and Ginny shivered to see a bit of unmistakable fear in his eyes as he disappeared through the doorway.

Ginny slowly exhaled.  She sank back into the chair, burying her head in her hands.  "What," Bill asked deliberately, "was that?"  Ginny shook her head and closed her eyes tightly.

"I don't know," she whispered.  "I don't know."  It had felt like a thousand sparks at once, a fire so hot that the skin on her palm glowed molten  It had _hurt-- __burned, and she could still feel the stinging in her palm  Harry must have felt it, too-- he had jumped back as suddenly as she.  She turned her hand over and examined the skin, tracing her finger over the lines that crisscrossed it.  Her skin was as pale as ever, completely unblemished, unmarked.  __What is happening to me? she thought, panicked.  __The scroll last night, and just now--_

Her thoughts were interrupted by the Bill's hands resting heavily on her shoulders.  "Gin," he asked quietly, "are you okay?"  

Ginny tried to smile.  "Yeah.  I'm fine, Bill," she said emptily.

"Is it that bad, Firebrand?" Bill asked, his voice sympathetic.  "I had it bad when I was a sixth year.  It was awful-- I don't think she even knew I existed," he continued.  Ginny got up abruptly.

"Just-- _stop," she said quietly.  "__Stop."  Bill dropped his hands from her shoulders, and stepped back.  "It's not something I have, Bill," she said, still tracing the skin on her palm and avoiding his eyes, "it's something I __am."_

"Ginny--"

"I can't."  She took a deep breath and shook her head.  "I'm sorry," she said, her voice shaking.  "Can we talk later, please?  I need to go and--  I need to go."  And before Bill could say another word, she ran back upstairs.

***

Ginny changed clothes quickly; she still wore the wrinkled blouse and skirt from the day before.  She pulled on the only pair of jeans she owned and an old jumper that used to belong to Fred.  It was oversized, and she had to roll the sleeves up several times before her hands showed below the frayed cuffs.  She needed to take a shower at some point, but the rattling pipes told her that someone else was already up and taking advantage of the early morning.  That, or the ghoul was being unusually active.

"Percy!"  Ginny heard Ron's voice break through the quiet.  "Get out of the shower!  I need to pee!"  _Not the ghoul, then.  Just brothers.  Not there's much difference, sometimes, really.  Ginny shoved her feet into her trainers, pulled her hair back into a messy ponytail, and ran downstairs and out the front door before anyone else peaked out of their rooms.  She didn't think she could take facing another person at the moment. _

It was cool outside, a low mist hanging over the garden.  It would warm up considerably as the day wore on, but for now Ginny was glad of the jumper.  She walked out to the shed, and brought out Charlie's old Cleansweep.  The bristles were uneven and broken-- too many rough Quidditch matches-- and the finish had been stripped and reapplied more times than could be counted.  But it was still a good broom, and Ginny smiled faintly as she walked with it out to the hollow by the pond.

Ginny wasn't a spectacular flyer-- she couldn't dive and pull up a hairsbreadth from the ground, she couldn't change direction with the same speed and flare as Charlie, she didn't have the raw athletic power that Fred and George demonstrated while beating back Bludgers-- but, as her dad had proudly told a dinner guest when she was younger, she had grace.  "She makes that old Cleansweep dance like a Firebolt," Mr. Weasley had boasted, and Ginny liked to think that he was right.

Ginny smiled to herself as she pushed off from the ground, circling upwards until she was just level with the crowns of the oaks surrounding the hollow.  The air was light, the sun was rising higher, and she only had to compensate for a slight breeze from the east.  _This, she thought, __is better.  Why can't everything be so simple?  Ginny shook her head.  It didn't do to dwell.  Besides, she came out here to clear her head, not muddle it further.  _

A red-breasted robin flit past her, and Ginny's eyes followed the bright spot of crimson as it darted into the woods.  _Right, she resolved, turning her broom to give chase.  __No more thinking for a while._

***

Ginny landed an hour or two later, her cheeks and nose whipped to a brilliant rose from the wind and sun.  It was always strange, she noted, how her legs were so rubbery after flying-- like they had forgotten that their original purpose was to walk, not grip a broom.  She swung the broom over her shoulder and wandered slowly back to the house, much more at ease than she had been when she left earlier in the morning.  

Ginny stopped to put the broom back into the shed, and was surprised to see Professor Dumbledore standing in front of her when she turned back around after fastening the door.  Her mouth went dry; Dumbledore looked terribly grave.

"Has anything happened?" she asked anxiously, her stomach dropping into her shoes.  _No, please-- I don't know if I can take much more.  _

The headmaster shook his head and slowly lost some of his solemnity, seeing her face blanch.  "No," he said comfortingly, "thankfully.  Although your family was afraid something had."  Ginny groaned-- she knew what must have happened.  She could almost hear her mother's irate ranting already.

"I missed breakfast and they couldn't find me," she said dully.  "Am I going to get a lecture on wandering off without telling anyone?" she asked dismally, her former lightness of spirit gone in a heartbeat.  

Dumbledore chuckled.  "Oh, I imagine so," he said.  "Your mother is a force to be reckoned with when upset.  Although I would say she has a right to be; it is not entirely safe at the present-- at least not until the wards are placed."  Ginny nodded and kicked a pebble out of the path.

"It was stupid of me," she said, glancing up at the old wizard.  "But I just couldn't--  I love my family, but it's hard sometimes," Ginny felt the words pour out before she could stop them.  "I was confused and I needed to think, and it's hard to do that with Mum forcing you to eat another pastry and Dad rattling on about plugs and Fred and George making something explode, and everyone treating me with kid gloves...." She trailed off.  "I'm sorry," she apologized.  "I know there are bigger problems right now than me being a spoiled brat."  Ginny looked away and started to turn up the path to the house.

"Miss Weasley, if you will wait a moment, there is still something I believe we need to discuss," Professor Dumbledore said.  Ginny turned back around suddenly.  

"How did you know about that?"  Her face reddened as the scene in the kitchen replayed itself in her head.  "Did Harry talk to you?" she asked, twisting her hands nervously.  "I swear, I didn't mean for it to hurt-- I don't know why it did _that."_

Dumbledore raised one of his thick white eyebrows.  "Did what, Miss Weasley?" he asked in a level voice.  Ginny tried to hedge; it was obvious that the Headmaster hadn't been told.

"Oh, nothing," she said hurriedly.  "It was nothing.  What did you want to talk to me about?"  She desperately wished she had been calm enough to keep her mouth shut.  _Lovely, Ginny.  Well done.  Dumbledore exhaled slowly, and motioned for her to follow him over to a small bench by the rows set aside for cabbages.  Ginny brushed dirt off of the seat (as well as a few pairs of Wellington boots-- they sprang up around the yard like mushrooms after a rainstorm) before they sat down.___

"Miss Weasley," the old wizard began, pushing his glasses up his long nose, "we live in a most complicated time.  Simple information can be of the gravest consequence, and the wrong secret kept can have terrible results.  Something happened with Harry this morning, did it not?" he asked directly.  Ginny nodded, flushing to the roots of her hair.  "I would ask you to tell me what occurred," he said quietly.  "I will not force you to, child, but please make sure that any reason you have for concealment is sound."

Ginny nodded and sighed.  "It really wasn't much," she protested, and told Dumbledore what had taken place in the kitchen.  "My hand just got _hot," she said, embarrassed by how silly it sounded to her own ears.  "I might have imagined the whole thing, but Harry--  I think he could feel it, too."  Ginny swung her legs underneath the bench and looked out across the garden to avoid Dumbledore's pale gaze._

"So."  Dumbledore's tone was serious, musing.  "It begins, then."  Ginny looked up sharply.

"What begins?" she asked.  "I just touched his hand-- it wasn't anything important, was it?"  Dumbledore smiled to himself and patted her arm.

"Settle back, Miss Weasley.  We have much to talk of, you and I."

***

"Have you never wondered why Harry is so vitally important in the fight against Voldemort?" Dumbledore asked abruptly, his pale blue eyes seeking out Ginny's.  "Harry is essential to the Order for more than one reason-- for more than just his scar, for more than the legacy of his parents.  Harry is part of the Balance."  Dumbledore paused, a smile playing at the corners of his mouth.  Ginny looked at him questioningly.  "So Professor Binns has not yet gotten around to a discussion on the Old Ways, has he?"  Dumbledore mused.  "Ah, well.  His area of scholarship was always the Goblin Rebellions; I believe philosophy and radical thought was always a bit too lively for him."  Ginny giggled slightly.  'Lively' and 'Professor Binns' were not words that went together easily or well.

"The Balance," Dumbledore continued, "is just what is sounds to be.  There can be neither excess nor deficiency of anything in the Universe without there being a disturbance.  Therefore, whenever a force gains the upper hand, the Balance intervenes to even things out, so to speak."  Ginny nodded slowly, not quite sure if she understood what the Headmaster was trying to say.  

Dumbledore picked up on her confusion, and sought to explain in more concrete terms.  "Think of it this way: the Balance works like an apothecary, responsible for making certain that the end result of the potion or salve is a useful one, and must measure out the ingredients carefully to achieve this end.  Consider the Elevating Elixir: its two main ingredients are extract of black nightshade and powdered hartwort, correct?"  Ginny nodded; the third years had learned to brew it the previous year, and there had been much agonizing over that particular portion on the practical exam.  

"What happens," Dumbledore asked, "when too much nightshade is added with too little hartwort to counter it?"  

Ginny thought quickly.  "Convulsions and death?" she answered, crossing her fingers behind her.  She hadn't studied much for that particular exam.

"Precisely.  And when the reverse is the case?"

"Um," Ginny went out on a limb, "Paralysis?  And-- er-- eventual death."  __

Dumbledore looked pleased.  _Lucky guess.  "Excellent, Miss Weasley!  Professor Snape would be most impressed."  __Oh, I bet he would, Ginny thought with a half-smile, imagining the scowling face of the Potions Master.  "So, although each ingredient can be lethal in excess, or with a deficiency of the other, when combined in the proper proportions they are completely benign.  The Balance works in a similar manner, as a sort of universal apothecary, measuring out the proper amounts of everything."_

"I'm guessing that the Balance isn't exactly a person?" Ginny asked, trying to see how this had anything to do with the events of the night before.  

Dumbledore nodded.  "It is not.  It is more of a force, a pattern-- a natural necessity.  There are many books on the subject-- I will have Professor Lupin suggest some reading on the subject for both you and Harry; the two of you will need to do some research on the matter, it seems."

"Why?" she asked, looking up at the Headmaster.  "What have we to do with the Balance?"

Dumbledore shook his head gently.  "More than I ever supposed," he said musingly.  "You see," Dumbledore turned back to face her directly, "Harry was born at a time when Voldemort was just reaching his most powerful.  There was a great Unbalance at the time; Voldemort had thrown the equilibrium off with the vast amount of Dark powers he controlled.  The Balance needed a conduit through which to force a return to stability-- and Harry was born at the right time.  So he became a conduit."  Dumbledore paused.  "I would venture to say that the Balance was the primary reason why Voldemort disappeared that night at Godric's Hollow."

"And yesterday?"  Ginny began to understand.

"The Balance again.  Understand, it can't be controlled-- it simply acts to achieve what is needed at a critical point.  The attack at Privet Drive yesterday was, for some reason, a critical point.  Had Harry not performed the spell he did at that very moment, something would have been lost to us, and the equilibrium would have been thrown off."

Ginny nodded slowly.  "I _think that makes sense," she said uncertainly, "but--"_

"But what does that have to do with you?"  Dumbledore anticipated her question.  Ginny nodded slightly.  "Well, Miss Weasley," Dumbledore said with a wry smile, "it would appear that the Balance has set you aside for a similar purpose.  And I would hypothesize that what you felt this morning was in some way related to your status as a conduit.  In what way, I am not yet certain."

Ginny was quiet for a moment.  It reassured her to know that _she hadn't done anything to hurt Harry, but that raised another question.  "So there's something working through me?" she asked, trying to sound nonchalant and failing.  Dumbledore nodded.  "Everything I do...."  Her voice trailed off, and she swallowed and tried again.  "It's not really me?  There's something in me that makes me do things?"  She looked away and bit her lip, remembering her first year at Hogwarts.  She had never been more terrified than when she realized that she might not have control over her actions-- the strangled roosters, the paint on the walls, the basilisk...._

Dumbledore must have sensed her train of thought, and patted her shoulder gently.  "The Balance does not make your decisions for you, child.  It does not tell you what you should wear every morning, what courses to take in school, what profession to choose, or whom you are to love.  Do not suppose yourself to be powerless in your choices.  But there are certain things that will happen, that _must happen, and the Balance will ensure that it can act through you if necessary."  The old wizard paused, and his tone altered slightly.  "The Balance will not control you, as Tom Riddle did."  _

Ginny nodded quietly.  "But I still don't like it," she said.

Dumbledore smiled.  "Unfortunately, Miss Weasley," he said, "one can not cease being a conduit.  It is simply something you _are."  Ginny looked up, surprised to hear her own words echoed back.  Dumbledore met her gaze and added quietly, "You cannot cease being a conduit anymore than you can rid yourself of what Riddle left in you."  _

Ginny's eyes widened.  "There are nightmares, are there not?" asked the headmaster, his pale blue eyes peering into hers.  "Dreams in which you hear and see things you never wished to know about?  The feeling that something is lurking in the back of your mind-- something you ought to remember, something that is just waiting and biding its time."  

Ginny recoiled.  _He knows.  Dumbledore continued on in a voice that made her shudder with its intensity.  "Last night, when you signed your name, you felt something.  There was a struggle in you."_

"It hurt," Ginny whispered.  "Something hurt, and I almost couldn't sign.  It wouldn't let me."

"Ah," said Dumbledore, a smile breaking over his face, "but you _did sign.  The struggle you felt was, I believe, a fight between yourself and what remains of Tom Riddle."  _

Ginny looked puzzled.  "I thought he was gone," she said.

Dumbledore shook his head gravely.  "Most of Tom has gone," he conceded, "but he lived so vividly in your mind that a part of him still resides there.  He is a part of you, however weak he is-- and I fear he will remain until Voldemort is no more."  Dumbledore smiled at Ginny's confused face.  

"It will make sense in time, my dear," he said, rising from the bench.  "In the meantime, I could do with some tea.  Or maybe some chocolate," he mused.  "Yes, a mug of chocolate with a nice lemon tart would be quite nice."

_I don't understand it, Ginny thought, following the headmaster to the house.  __He can go from discussing possession by numerous forces to lemon tarts in ten seconds.  Something darted quickly across her mind, and she groaned in frustration.  "Professor Dumbledore, wait!" she cried out, running to catch up with him.  "The scroll, last night--," she panted out.  "My name didn't fade.  Why didn't it?  Am I not supposed to be admitted to the Order?"_

"Ah."  Dumbledore turned to face the redhead.  "It's actually quite a simple matter.  The Scroll of the Order is bewitched to recognize the intent of those who sign it.  All who sign in good faith will see their names flash gold and disappear into the parchment.  Those who do not mean what they promise will see their names turn scarlet and drip though the Scroll like wet ink.  Your name, Miss Weasley, did neither.  The Scroll recognized the struggle within you, and faced a situation for which it had no precedent-- _you meant what you signed, but Tom Riddle did not.  So the Scroll chose a happy medium.  You would not have been allowed to sign at all if you had not been able to best Riddle in the struggle, but the Scroll knows that there is something in you that has not been seen before.  You are, Miss Weasley," Dumbledore concluded, "a wild card."_


	5. Water on Stone

Water on Stone

_AN: And yet again, it takes me an unforgivably long while to pound out another chapter.  Nearly everything about this chapter was slow in coming-- even the title-- and without any good reason.  I half suspect the real reason I used "Water on Stone" was because that's what writing this one felt like: very (drip)... very (drip)... very (drip)... slooooooowwww (splash). :p  Here's hoping the next chapter proves to be a little timelier. Thank you all for being so wonderfully patient, and Dr. C for pointing out that I forgot to give Ron pink ears. :)  _

***

_...me deber imperioso de vigía,_

_mi inclinación a ser sólo yo mismo_

_en la debilidad de mis placeres,_

_por eso-- agua en la piedra-- fué mi vida_

_cantando entre la dicha y la dureza._

_~ Pablo Neruda*_

***

"You're kidding, right?"  Harry pushed his glasses farther up the bridge of his nose.  "You've got to be joking."  He looked to his godfather, who nodded, confirming Dumbledore's words.  "Great," Harry sighed.  "Just brilliant."

"It's not as bad as all that, Harry," Sirius Black interjected.  "It's not like the Balance makes your decisions for you."

"It just makes me cast spells I've never heard of in a language I don't know!" Harry cried agitatedly.  "I don't even know what I did yesterday!  I could have hurt somebody-- I could have _killed someone.  And I wouldn't have known even if I did."  Harry brought his hand up to his forehead and traced the scar there lightly.  "I never asked for it," he said quietly.  Sirius ruffled the boy's hair.  _

"I know you didn't, Harry," he said gruffly.  "None of us did.  But it's not something you can change.  And," he added, "at least you're not alone in this."  Harry looked questioningly at Sirius.  

"It would seem," Dumbledore said slowly from his chair beside Harry's bed, "that Ginny Weasley is also a conduit." The Headmaster paused for a moment.  "She is not terribly thrilled with the prospect either.  I'm afraid it brings back rather unpleasant memories for her."

Harry blinked.  _Of course-- Riddle.  "Ginny's a conduit, too?" he asked, wrapping the words around in his mind.  He wasn't the only one?  "How many are there, then?"_

"As many as there need to be," Dumbledore answered.  "Apparently, there need to be at least two right now.  But most scholarship into the Balance and the Old Ways record there being only one conduit at a time.  It would behoove us to look a little more deeply into the matter, as it's a rather unprecedented situation."

"Oh," said Harry.  His forehead wrinkled, and he rubbed his scar.  "How do you know she's a conduit, though?" he asked.  "I mean, has she-- has the Balance done anything through her?  Like it did through me?"

"Not as of yet."  Dumbledore smiled slightly.  "There were other signs.  But I'm certain the Balance has its plans for her in the future."  Harry wondered what "other things" Dumbledore could mean.  Ginny had always seemed to be a normal sort of girl-- it just didn't fit that she would be mixed up in this whole Balance mess.  Honestly though, if he thought about it, Harry didn't really know her that well.  But the idea of somehow being connected to her was a little disturbing, for more than one reason.  Not least because of the scene in the kitchen earlier that morning.  

Dumbledore rose from his chair.  "I imagine the others will be arriving soon. I should probably offer my assistance to Molly before the kitchen becomes a war zone."

Sirius nodded.  "I should probably go and join the Allied forces, too-- it's the least I can do, really.  Not many people let strays stay overnight, you know."  He looked down at his godson.  "You think you can make it down to the kitchen in a while?  You don't have to, of course, but it would probably be best if you were there to hear everything," he said.

Harry assented.  "I'm okay.  I'll be down in a bit," he told Sirius.  "I'd just rather not go down there in my pajamas, if that's okay."  Harry managed an attempt at a grin.

Sirius chuckled.  "All right, then," he said, shutting the door behind him as he left.

"All right, then," Harry echoed back to the blank of the closed door.  He leaned back against the pillows, and for a moment considered just pulling the covers back up over his head and ignoring it all.  

It had been a long, confusing summer for Harry.  Life with the Dursleys had been predictably miserable, and it had only been made worse by the nightmares that had plagued him since the Third Task.  He hadn't been able to keep himself from calling out in his dreams, and had woken up his aunt and uncle on more than one occasion.

"Can't you keep yourself _quiet, boy?" Aunt Petunia had asked angrily two weeks ago.  "Blabbering on about all those-- abnormal things.  If the neighbors hear you, you can be sure you'll be out of this house before you know which way is up," she had threatened with a glare.  But as much as Aunt Petunia hated the wizarding world, she did love to eavesdrop.  "And who is this Cedric you keep bellowing about?"  Seeing Harry flinch, she had pressed on.  "It sounds like he was in quite a bit of trouble because of you."_

Harry had snapped.  "What does it matter to you?" he asked.  "He's dead now, anyway."  

The Dursleys gave him a wide berth after that.  But the nightmares weren't as easily dissuaded.  And then yesterday....

Harry sighed.  Being fifteen was complicated enough without evil Dark Lords trying to kill you at every turn and mysterious ancient powers forcing you to recite spells that you didn't remember learning.  At least he wasn't the only one with _that particular problem.  But still.__  He was supposed to be worrying about Quidditch and school and girls right now.  Normal stuff like that.  _

_Yeah, because "normal" is a word that applies so well to me, he thought sarcastically, throwing his legs over the side of the bed to get up.  He couldn't hide in Ron's room for the rest of the summer, however much he wanted to._

***

Harry dressed quickly in some of Ron's old clothes; his trousers and shirt from the previous day were gone.  "My goodness, you're pale, dear," the mirror commented on his way out the door.  "And those trousers are entirely too long for you.  And for goodness sake," it called after him, "can't you do something with that hair of yours?"  Harry shook his head.  Wizarding mirrors were something he could easily live without.

He made his way down to the Weasley living room-- it wasn't quite noon, and he didn't feel like joining the throng in the kitchen just yet.  He pushed the door open, and nearly walked into someone standing just inside. 

"Oh," he said a bit stupidly, staring at a flushing Ginny Weasley.  He still wasn't sure what to make of the whole hand thing that had happened earlier in the morning.  And to tell the truth, it made him a little uncomfortable.  "I'm sorry, Ginny-- I didn't know you were in here."  He made to leave, but she shook her head.

"You don't have to go," she said hurriedly, fidgeting with the end of the damp plait resting on her shoulder.  "I mean, unless, of course you want to.  Which is fine.  I was just-- thinking.  About things.  You know.  Things," she gestured vaguely, and then shook her head.  

"Let me try that again.  I _can be a rational person, if I try," she said.  Harry bit back a smile; he hadn't seen her so flustered since her first year.  "I guess you've talked to Dumbledore?" she asked, a good deal more collected._

"Yeah."  Harry sighed and leaned heavily against the wall.  "Bloody brilliant, isn't it?" he said dryly.

"My thoughts exactly.  He told Mum and Dad about-- about the whole me being a conduit thing before he went to talk to you.  Another thing for them to be protective about," she said, a little bitterly.  There was a moment of silence, and then the two spoke at once.

"It's almost noon, we should probably go-- "

"I need to go fetch Ron before the meeting-- "

"Where is he, anyway?" Harry asked, his face brightening slightly.  "I haven't seen him yet."

"He's been right worried about you," Ginny said.  "He's probably owling Hermione right now... that seems to be about the only thing he does these days.  I think he's trying to wear Pig out."

A spark of amusement flitted across Harry's face.  "Really?" 

Ginny smirked.  "C'mon.  Let's go see if I'm right."  She made to put her hand on Harry's forearm, but stopped suddenly and jerked it back.  "Um, right," she said, twisting her hands.  "I think he's in the dining room."  _Great, Ginny, the little voice in the back of her mind chided as she led the way to the dining room.  __Perhaps we should implement a "no contact" rule, so you won't humiliate yourself.  _

She peeked inside the doorway, motioning for Harry to stay quiet.  Ron was sitting at the table, surrounded by a sea of crumpled papers.  He looked lost in thought, and was furiously scratching out whatever it was he had written last.  Ginny grinned, and opened the door all the way.

"Honestly, Ron, how many drafts does it take to say, 'Harry's here, he's been hurt, and, by the way, I fancy you?'"  

Ron jumped, and Harry made a noise that was somewhere between a snort and a guffaw.  _Ten points, Ginny Weasley.  Had Ron not noticed Harry at that moment, he probably would have attacked his younger sister, chivalry be damned._

"Harry, mate!"  Ron rose and hugged his friend tightly, avoiding Harry's bad arm.  "Erm, right."  Ron gave Harry an awkward pat on the back and stepped away.  Ginny had to suppress a snicker; however evident it was that the two friends were genuinely glad to see each other, neither of them was willing to delve into all the sappy, emotional stuff.  _Boys._

"Writing to Hermione, were you?" Harry asked with a faint smile.  He was still pale, but it comforted Ginny to see him fall back into his routine with Ron.

"As a matter of fact, yes." Ron hurriedly tried to gather his papers together.  "Someone had to let her know what's going on, you know.  Keeping her informed, that's all."  Ron's ears were a suspicious shade of pink, and Ginny caught a glimpse of one of the letters-- the words "blasted," "Krum," and "Bulgaria" were visible.  She tried to catch Harry's eye to see if he had also seen the incriminating letter, but Harry's face had taken on a worried look.

"Are you sure it's safe to owl her?" he asked.  "I mean, after yesterday....  What if someone else reads the letter?  I don't want her to be in trouble."  He grimaced.  "I know I'm putting your family in enough danger by being here-- but the Grangers can't even defend themselves.  Maybe you shouldn't mention me."

Ron shook his head and smacked Harry over the head with his letter.  "Twit.  Do you really think I'm that thick?  I already asked Mum and Dad about it this morning at breakfast.  I didn't want to send it with Pig because the feathery git would probably get lost on the way.  Dumbledore said I could give the letter to him, and he'd make sure it got put in with her Hogwarts letter.  Less suspicious that way.  And if you're really worried about it, Bill could put a Voice Encryption charm on it so that the writing's invisible until it can identify her voice."  Ginny was impressed; Ron had given this a lot of thought.

"Besides," he continued, "she'd never forgive us if we didn't let her know what happened.  You know Hermione.  Being the last to know something would drive her mad."

"Can't imagine how _that would feel," Ginny muttered.  _

Ron winced.  "I take it I'm still in trouble," he ventured.  

"Got it in one," she answered.  Harry looked a little lost.  

"Don't worry about it, mate," Ron said, pushing him towards the door.  "We've got a meeting to get to, anyway."

Ginny glowered.  "You can run, Ron Weasley, but you can't hide....  I know where you sleep," she warned him as she followed the boys into the kitchen.

***

Harry, Ron, and Ginny slid quickly inside the kitchen door.  Ginny looked around for a place to sit, but it didn't look like there were enough seats.  Professor Lupin and Sirius Black (_who is not__ a bloodthirsty murderer, she reminded herself) were arguing good-naturedly over something across the kitchen table.  Mr. Doffle, the red-faced man from the previous evening, sat next to Black, watching the exchange with a satisfied grin spread across his broad face.  _

Mrs. Weasley sat in another spindly-legged kitchen chair next to her husband and Mundugus Fletcher, gesturing frustratedly to her eldest son's hair ("I wish you'd talk to him, Arthur... he looks like a-- a _degenerate!").  Bill, whose hair __was long-- but very cool-- leaned up against the mantle over the fireplace, ignoring the chatter behind him as he talked dragons with Charlie and a stone-faced Tuesday Birchfald.  The twins had claimed the hearthstone, and were messing about with a rather dangerous-looking miniature of a troll that was swinging its tiny club around viciously.  _

Percy and Mr. Herron, both looking fussy and out of place in the chaotic room, sat on two stools against the far wall, discussing international trade and each trying to use larger words than the other.  Mr. Grell, as he had been the night before, was separate from the group-- quietly watching the tableau from a corner.  

Dumbledore was seated at the head of the kitchen table, and rose when they entered the room.  "Ah.  Good to see you down here, Harry.  Miss Weasley, Mr. Weasley," he nodded to Ginny and Ron and smiled.  "Harry, I don't believe you have had the pleasure of meeting everyone yet."  Dumbledore introduced the strange faces in the room to Harry, much as he had done the previous night for Ginny and her brothers, although Harry was much tenser than they had been.  

"If you would like to take a seat, now that we have the introductions out of the way...."  Dumbledore glanced around the room.  There were no more chairs to be had.  He turned his hand with a quick motion, and with a small _pop! Ginny found herself seated on a tattered green sofa between Harry and Ron._

Ron grinned.  "Wandless magic," he said, bouncing a little on the cushions to test them.  "Excellent."  Ginny was rather impressed herself.  Wandless magic was very difficult to control; it would have been easy for a lesser wizard to have missed and conjured the sofa on top of someone unintentionally.  But then, this was Dumbledore.

"Thank you, Mr. Weasley."  Dumbledore's eyes twinkled merrily behind his spectacles.  "I'm particularly fond of that sofa; it is extraordinarily good for a quick nap.  I may request the use of it for that purpose later this afternoon, once we have concluded our business."  He stood taller, and cleared his throat.  "It would be best, I believe, if we began quickly.  Time waits for no one, least of all those who have need of it."  The room quieted.

Dumbledore began.  "We spoke of many things last night, but we were missing a rather key perspective."  He looked at Harry apologetically.  "I wish there were a more pleasant way to go about this, Harry, but I am afraid we have little choice.  I must ask you to tell us as much as you know, if it is not too much."  Ginny felt Harry tense on the cushion beside her.  Harry had been almost animated when talking to Ron moments before, but it was as though a light suddenly went out in him.

Black turned in his chair to face his godson.  "You don't have to, Harry," he said in a low voice.  "If you want to, you can go back to bed.  That's fine."  He laid a hand on Harry's knee.  "Are you up for it?"  

Harry made a frustrated noise. "Yes," he said, not really looking anywhere.  "I'm fine."  Sirius didn't look convinced, and neither was Ginny.  "Where would you like me to start?" he asked Dumbledore in a flat voice.

"Let us begin with yesterday morning, and see where that takes us," the headmaster replied.

***

Harry talked slowly, without expression.  He had risen at seven, he said, to make breakfast for the Dursleys.  Eggs, sausage, toast, tomatoes, and a grapefruit for Dudley.  ("He's still rather mountain-like," Harry noted.)  Afterwards he went outside to tend the yard before it got too warm.  He weeded the lawn, put another coat of whitewash on the garden shed, and trimmed the hedges so that Aunt Petunia could spy on the neighbors without straining her over-long neck.  Then it was time for lunch, and then housework.  He did the dishes, and swept the kitchen while his aunt caught up on her daily neighborhood observation.

"I was changing the sheets on Dudley's bed," Harry continued, looking at a spot on the wall, "when she screamed."  He had talked steadily for several minutes without breaking the stream, but he stopped for a half moment before picking back up.  "Dudley's room faces the street, and the curtains were up.  So I could see what she was screaming at.  There was a duel on over in Mrs. Figg's yard-- two wizards in black, and three others.  I could see their wands out, and since the windows were open I could hear them, too."  He stopped, and rubbed his scar roughly with one hand.

"Harry," Professor Lupin asked gently, "why did you leave the house?" 

Harry shrugged.  "I couldn't just stay there.  Mrs. Figg is a Muggle, and they could have hurt her."  Ginny bit her lip; Dumbledore apparently hadn't been able to tell Harry that part yet.  "And I saw Charlie from the window, and I thought it was Ron.  It was...."  He made a gesture towards his head.

Charlie grinned slightly.  "It was what, mate?  The hair?" 

"Yeah, well...."  Harry gave a half smile.  "I knew it had to be one of you lot.  Not Bill, though, or Ginny, unless they'd cut their hair."  Ginny felt an odd shiver run up her spine, and she was certain that if she looked over at him, Harry would be looking back at her.  

She sneaked a quick look.  He wasn't.  _Of course. Just because he mentioned your name--  Her mental self rolled her eyes. _

"At any rate, I couldn't just _watch," he continued.  "So I went outside.  And-- " he stopped, and looked at Dumbledore.  "It-- there was this __pulling.  I don't know.  I-- I would have gone outside anyway.  But...."  He shook his head.  "I didn't even grab my wand.  Stupid of me.  And my scar started to burn the closer I got.  But I couldn't __not go-- I just felt like if I didn't get there, everything would break apart, or something.  But my scar... as soon as I got to the lawn it just-- exploded, almost."  Harry put a hand up to the scar above his right eye, but didn't touch it, as though he were afraid of what might happen if he did._

He was silent for a moment, and Ginny heard the fire crackle in the grate.  The room waited.  She wanted someone to speak; the silence was too heavy for the bright light flooding the kitchen.  

"It was-- loud," Harry said finally.

"Loud, dear?" Mrs. Weasley asked, concerned.

Harry met her eyes briefly.  "Like with the Dementors.  I hear my parents," he explained quietly.  

Ginny heard her mother murmur, "Oh, the poor dear," under her breath.  She wanted badly to slip her hand in Harry's and-- _Stop, Ginny.  Leave him alone.  But it was very hard not to, when she knew what sort of voices the Dementors could bring back, and how real they were...._

_"You silly, stupid little thing.  I could make you do anything.  Anything I wanted, and you would never know, never remember."_

"Tom-- please, don't-- please--" 

_A high laugh.  "Oh, do go on begging.  It's so wonderfully pathetic.  And so very useless.  I'll have you kill them, you know.  I'm going to tell you now so you can try to fight me and fail.  I think I shall enjoy watching you go mad."_

"No-- you won't make me-- I won't let you!" 

_"Such spirit, such life!  No matter-- I'll soon have that as well.  Until then, I shall bide my time.  I have all the time in the world, my little fool.  And you have very little left."_

Ginny shivered, and forced herself to listen.  "It was loud, and still.  And-- it wasn't just my parents."  He swallowed, and idly traced a stain on the sofa's upholstery.  "It was like I could hear everything that he'd-- that Voldemort had done.  All at once.  And everyone else was...." Harry shook his head.  "I don't know.  Professor Lupin was near me, but-- They all stopped moving, like there wasn't any time.  Except for them."  He looked like he was struggling to find the words.  "I don't know what I did.  I saw a wand and grabbed it-- and my head felt like it would split in two, so I tried the first thing that I could think of.  I tried a Patronus, because I've only ever felt like that around Dementors and I thought--  I don't know.  Maybe they were Dementors in disguise?"  He shrugged.  "It didn't work.  And then-- I don't really--  I'm not sure."  He stopped and bit his lip.

Ginny glanced at her brother beside her.  Ron's face was pale with concern for his friend, and his look reminded her of the night after the Third Task.  He caught her eye briefly and did one of the most decent things he'd done for her in ages and gave her hand a quick squeeze.  Ginny smiled faintly.  _Thanks, she mouthed.  He rolled his eyes, and grasped her hand again._

"I remember a flash, and--"   Harry spoke in jerks and starts, as gluing together the fragments of a glass.  "Something in me squeezing, a vice-- and I felt my arm tear.  Then not much at all.  There was the pulling feeling again, and something warm rising, and words in my head, and then light-- and quiet."  Harry rubbed his eyes.  "I remember Professor Lupin and Miss Birchfald and my aunt arguing, and the Floo and feeling sick, and then waking up here in the kitchen."

Ginny had the funny shivery feeling along her spine again, and ventured another glance towards Harry.  This time she was shocked to see a pair of green eyes meet hers for a moment, before darting back to their anonymous spot on the wall.  _Oh.  She let out a slow breath._

Harry leaned back a little against the sofa and let out a quiet sigh.  "That's it, really.  I don't know how much that will help."

"You may have helped more than you know, Harry," Dumbledore said, cleaning his spectacles on his robes.  "Theophilus, did you get all of that down?"  Mr. Herron assented, and motioned to a scroll Ginny hadn't noticed before.  A quill hovered over it, apparently scratching down what Dumbledore had just said.

Harry groaned.  "What's the matter, Harry?" Sirius asked.

"Is that a Quick Quotes Quill, sir?" Harry asked Mr. Herron, looking pained. 

"Of course not!"  Mr. Herron looked indignant.  "It's a Stenographer Spell.  As though I'd use a Quick Quotes Quill for something like this.  It would read like a penny romance."  Harry relaxed, and to the other side of her, Ron snickered.  Ginny though she heard him mutter something about scarlet linen, but ignored it.  It would be like Ron to have some strange joke about bedclothes.

Dumbledore replaced his glasses and leaned back in his chair.  "I believe this is the part where I am expected to reveal a brilliant strategy and give orders," he said whimsically.  "Unfortunately, the best I can offer is the following."  

He stood up abruptly, walked to the cupboard, and pulled out a kettle and some tea leaves.  He continued, filling the kettle: "We know that Voldemort is gaining strength, and that he has some idea to win greater strength through some use of Mr. Potter.  I believe we can also assume that the key to this potential power has its roots in Voldemort's resurrection in June, and his use of Harry's blood is somehow connected to the attack at Privet Drive yesterday.  We cannot, however, predict Voldemort's plans any further than to say that he will most probably attempt attacks until he succeeds at his goal."  He placed the kettle on the stovetop, and lit a quick blue fire beneath it.

"Therefore, it is rather imperative that we discover what, exactly, his is trying to achieve.  Remus, Theophilus-- I will leave the research to the two of you.  I have full confidence in your abilities."  The two men nodded, and sat a little straighter.  "Mr. Grell, Ms. Birchfald, Charlie, Sirius-- they may not be able to find all they need in books.  I leave it to you how to obtain the information."  He gave Grell a long, steady look.  "Remember that some of our members are in precarious situations, and sometimes the information is not worth the risk."  Ginny felt Harry stiffen beside her.  _Sirius._

"Bill."  Dumbledore turned to her brother.  "We need to know how they got past the wards without any forewarning.  If Voldemort can get to Privet Drive, he can most likely get to Hogwarts."  _And if Hogwarts isn't safe....  Ginny shivered.  _

"Arthur, Percy-- "  Dumbledore sighed.  "As the Minister currently refuses to acknowledge Voldemort's return, I can only ask you to do what you can to spread the word within the Ministry itself.  If you can learn anything...."  He let his words hang, and Ginny peeked over at Percy to see what sort of reaction her bookish brother gave to the suggestion of spying.  There was none; Percy's face was blank.  Dumbledore continued to muse.  "Perhaps we can glean some supporters from the woodwork in the Ministry-- the sooner Fudge realizes his error, the better.  Molly, Bardrick, if you could continue to aid us with communication."  The tea kettle whistled merrily, and Dumbledore put the strainer in to steep.

"As for the rest of you," the headmaster added, looking at the younger Weasleys and Harry, "your studies will take priority as usual.  I do promise that you will be as informed as any of the rest of us.  However.  I must impress upon you the importance of secrecy.  It is a matter of the utmost gravity, and this is one regulation that you shall obey without question."  His eyes momentarily lost their twinkle.

"What about Hermione?" Ron asked.  "We can hardly not tell _her."  He looked rather fierce._

The older wizard smiled.  "I have learned over these past years, Mr. Weasley," he said, "to assume that anything told to one of you would be told to all three.  Miss Granger is, of course, included."  Dumbledore removed a mug from the cupboard.  "Tea, anyone?"

***

  


_*Sumario_

_Estoy contento con tantos deberes_

_que me impuse, en mi vida_

_se amasaron extraños materiales:_

_tiernos fantasmas que me despeinaban,_

_categóricas manos minerales, _

_un viento sin razón que me agitaba,_

_la espina de unos besos lacerantes, la dura realidad_

_de mis hermanos,_

_me deber imperioso de vigía,_

_mi inclinación a ser sólo yo mismo_

_en la debilidad de mis placeres,_

_por eso-- agua en la piedra-- fué mi vida_

_cantando entre la dicha y la dureza._

_~ Pablo Neruda_

Summation 

_I am glad of the great obligations_

_I imposed on myself.  In my life_

_many strange and material things have crowded together--_

_fragile wraiths that entangle me,_

_categorical mineral hands,_

_an irrational wind that dismayed me,_

_barbed kisses that scarred me, the hard reality_

_of my brothers,_

_my implacable vow to keep watchful,_

_my penchant for loneliness-- to keep to myself_

_in the frailty of my personal whims._

_That is why-- water on stone-- my whole life has_

_sung itself out between chance and austerity._

_~ trans. by Ben Belitt_


	6. Departures

Departures

_A/N: Amazing.  Two chapters in one blow.  And, nearly a year after really starting THG, I've finally got to the point where the plot begins....  Thanks to all the fantastic people who have reviewed and encouraged me; you're all wonderful, and I'm glad that you enjoy reading this as much as I do writing it._

***

The days following blew away swiftly.  The slow turn of summer was ending, and it would soon be September.  Trickling off in groups, the Order dispersed.  Professor Lupin, Bill, and Mr. Herron left the afternoon of the meeting: Bill to Surrey, to fetch Harry's belongings and investigate the wards, and Lupin and Herron to London to begin their research.  Bardrick Doffle ambled off on his own, and Grell, Charlie, Tuesday, and Sirius left the next morning at dawn.  Mrs. Weasley found Harry asleep on the green sofa (still in the middle of the kitchen) when she went to make breakfast later that morning.  He slept quietly, and she decided the family could eat cereal in the living room instead.

Mr. Weasley and Percy continued their work at the Ministry, looking more worn down every day.  And the Daily Prophet continued to report blithely on Quidditch scores and pumpkin juice recipes and the latest robbery in Diagon Alley.  Mrs. Figg's obituary ran in the lower left corner of the back page: "Arabella Figg, aged 127 7/9ths, d. Aug. 24. in her home in Surrey.  Private service TBA.  Donations may be made to the Little Whinging Animal Shelter." 

True to his word, Dumbledore included Ron's letter in Hermione's usual Hogwarts letter, to which she responded promptly.  Ron turned several shades of puce when the school owl arrived bearing her letter, and told Harry he "didn't feel much like Quidditch-- er, must be coming down with something," and ran off, letter in hand.

When he returned a while later, still the same curious shade, he gave Harry her letter. 

_August 27_

_Dear Ron,_

_It was clever of you to send your letter the way you did, although I did nearly toss it out, thinking it was a blank piece of parchment before the ink appeared.  Was that a Voice Encryption charm?  I must learn how to do that; it could be very useful in the future.  I'll have to check in the library when we get back to school._

_I'm so glad to hear that Harry's all right-- I was panicked when the last letter I sent him came back unopened.  I checked the Daily Prophet to see if they had reported anything happening in Surrey, but of course they wouldn't, would they?  I had just sat down to write you a letter about it when yours arrived.  Still, it doesn't seem fair that this should have to happen after the end of last year.  Has Harry talked to you about that, by the way?  He hasn't said a word to me, and I'm worried._

_It does make me feel better to know that there is something being done, though.  And if there is anyone in the world who can come up with a solution, it's Dumbledore.  And I'm glad that Professor Lupin and Snuffles are helping as well.  What do the rest seem like?  I wish I could have been at the meetings-- you're so lucky to see have seen the Scroll of the Order!  I read about in the Rise and Fall of the Dark Arts.  It's legendary-- no one knows just how old it is.  And to think, you got to sign it._

_But speaking of Snuffles, Ron, I really don't think Ginny's reaction to everything was "extreme."  After all, we did keep her in the dark.  And for no good reason, really-- she would never have told anyone, I know.  Your sister is good with secrets._

_Oh!  And I have to tell you, because I'm almost bursting as there's no one to tell here: I'm a prefect!  Professor McGonagall included my badge with my Hogwarts letter.  I was completely shocked; I never in a thousand years thought that I'd be made prefect.  After all, the three of us do have a bit of a knack for breaking school rules.  And you know I'm going to have to be rather strict-- I can't let you and Harry break the rules just because you're my friends.  Favoritism isn't becoming in a position of leadership.  Just look at Snape-- oh, that wasn't very good of me, although I suppose you'll find it funny.  I can hardly wait to get back to Hogwarts-- being a prefect may really help the S.P.E.W. campaign.  Perhaps Professor McGonagall will let me hold proper meetings in the common room._

_How are you planning on getting your books this year?  I imagine it's too much of a risk to take Harry to Diagon Alley.  Will your mum fetch them, then?  Mum and Dad and I went to Flourish & Blotts and Gringotts yesterday, while we were in London.  It seemed less crowded than usual, and it was very strange not to go around with you and Harry and everyone.  I suppose I'll see you all at King's Cross on Friday then, shall I?  I plan on arriving a little after ten, just to be safe.  _

_Missing trains is horribly tedious.  This summer, for example, Mum and Dad and I missed the train we were meant to take to get to a  charming castle in Bulgaria that I'd heard about from_

The next page was mysteriously missing.  

Harry had choked back a laugh, and slid the letter across the table to Ginny, who afterwards made a point to remark on the suitability of Bulgaria as a holiday destination at every opportunity.

***

"Fred, could you get that stupid troll off the table?"  Ginny scowled.  The miniature troll's club had just sent a pot of marmalade flying into the platter of sausages.  "Mum's going to skin you two alive," she muttered.  "Or, if she doesn't, I will."

"Well, aren't you just a right Little Miss Sunshine this morning?"  Fred elbowed her. 

"It's too dark to be morning yet.  Mum must've bewitched the clocks," George yawned.  Fred grabbed the squirming troll by the arm before it smashed the sugar bowl, and gave its ear a few good twists.  The troll froze mid-struggle, returning to a wooden figure.

"Actually, that's pretty cool," Bill said, leaning around Ginny to get a look at the toy.  "Did you guys make this?"

Ginny rolled her eyes.  "Of course they did," she answered.  "It's useless, it's destructive, and they think it's bloody funny to let it loose in my room."  She glared.   Bill, however, was too amused with the troll figure to pay attention to his sister's outrage.

"Have you two been working on anything else this summer, George?" Bill asked.  "And am I safe to assume that my food hasn't been tampered with?"  
  


George snored delicately into his porridge.

"I'll take that as a _yes, then."_

Mrs. Weasley bustled into the room.  "Ginny, dear-- did you bring your trunk downstairs like I asked you?  I don't see it in the living room....  George!"  She tapped her son's face sharply.  "Wake up, and wipe your face.  I won't have you go to the station looking like that."  George blinked blearily and tried to wipe the porridge off his chin.  Mrs. Weasley poured herself a cup of tea, and looked around the room.  "Where are Ron and Harry?" she asked, noting the empty seats at the end of the table.  Bill shrugged, and gave a quick glance up at the ceiling.

"RONALD WEASLEY!"  Mrs. Weasley strode to the bottom of the stairwell.  "IF YOU'RE NOT DOWN HERE IN _TWO MINUTES-- oh, good morning, Harry.  Breakfast is on the table-- __TWO MINUTES, YOU'LL BE __WALKING TO KING'S CROSS!"  Harry stumbled into the kitchen, his hair even more mussed than normal.  It was clear he had only just woken up.  "'Morning," he mumbled, plopping down in a seat next to Bill.  _

"That's the theory, anyway," Fred said.  "I say it's actually midnight."

"Why're we leaving so early, anyway?" Ginny asked grumpily.  She would need a little more time to be fully civil this morning.  Or something.  She eyed Bill's coffee.  _Might be worth a shot...._

"Because we don't want to risk the traffic, dear."  Mrs. Weasley reentered the kitchen, sheparding a half-asleep Ron to the table.  "The taxicars should be here in an hour or so."  Ron groaned and folded his arms on the table and tried to doze off.  Harry smirked, and smacked the back of Ron's head as he reached for the butter.  

"Geroff, Harry."  Ron swatted Harry's hand away.  "Dunno why you're so awake."  

Harry shrugged.  "I'm a light sleeper."  He turned back to his toast.

Ginny caught her mother giving Harry a worried glance; he hadn't been sleeping well, and they all knew it.  It had been rather hard to ignore the occasional cries from Ron's room late at night over the past week.  Mrs. Weasley cleared her throat.  "Well.  If you've all finished with your breakfasts-- ," she lifted George's head back out of his porridge, "go ahead and double check that you have all everything packed.  I don't want any owls tomorrow saying you've forgot your cauldrons, or Potions ingredients, or the like."

Fred made for the door.  "Erm.  Potions ingredients...."

George followed suit.  "Cauldron.  Right."

Mrs. Weasley sighed.  "Thank heavens it's their last year," she said.

***

Two taxis arrived at the Burrow promptly at eight, and six Weasleys (Bill had elected to go along to see them off, as Mr. Weasley had to be in at the Ministry early that day) and Harry tried their best to look nonchalant about shoving five trunks and two caged owls-- Hedwig was none the worse for her time alone at the Dursleys'-- into the tiny boots of the cabs.   Thankfully, the drivers were none too observant, or they might have noticed Bill expanding the boot to give Pig and Hedwig some breathing room.

Soon, the cars were underway, and Ginny tried to keep herself from nodding off.  She'd wound up in the first taxi with her mother and Bill-- she had wanted to ride with Ron and Harry, but the twins had beaten her to the cab.  God only knew what they were getting up to, four boys unsupervised in a car like that.  The driver would be lucky to escape with his life....  Her head jerked suddenly as they rounded a corner, and she hit her head against the glass pane of the window.  "Ow."  

Next to her, Bill laughed softly.  "Still sleepy, Firebrand?"

Ginny shook her head.  "Noo-o-o-oh," she yawned.

"Liar."  Bill put his arm around her and mussed her hair.  

Mrs.  Weasley smiled.  "Go ahead and get some sleep, dear.  It will be another hour or so before we get to London."  Ginny was ready to remind her mother that she was, in fact, fourteen, and didn't need naps, when she yawned again.  _Might as well, she thought, and laid her head on Bill's shoulder.  __I'll just take a quick-- yawn-- __nap.  Not more than-- sigh, yawn-- __a few...._

Minutes later (or what felt like it), the taxis pulled away, leaving them with their trolleys of trunks and hooting owls.  Ron led the way to the platform (it was ten past ten, and he seemed in quite a hurry to get to the train), pushing headlong through the crowds.  Harry followed him close, talking to Bill as he went.  Bill, Ginny noticed, kept scanning the crowd and had his wand drawn, holding it casually so as not to attract the attention of Muggles.  

"Fred, George," Mrs. Weasley instructed when they reached the barrier, "you two are first...."  The twins barreled through.   "Now, Harry, dear, you go ahead on through with Bill-- wait a moment, Ron, you'll trip right over them.  Let them get out of the way before you go-- never mind."  She looked at her daughter.  "Our turn now."  She offered her hand, and Ginny (feeling very much like her seven-year-old self who had been terrified of the brick barrier) grasped it firmly before rushing towards the pillar.  _I hate this.  She closed her eyes, still convinced after countless trips to King's Cross that it would hurt._

There was a deep whistle, and they were through.

The platform bustled with life; it was reassuringly normal to see the frightened faces of first years, teary mothers admonishing their babies to _write home, dear, so Mummy knows that you've reached school, all right?  She pushed her trunk past the eddies of students collecting in groups to discuss their summers, and plot exploits for the new year, and waved to some other fourth year girls she saw.  It was so __nice that some things didn't change._

"HERMIONE!"  

Ginny smirked.  Ron had evidently spotted her, talking animatedly to a prefect from Hufflepuff.  Hermione turned, and her face lit up.

"Harry!"  She ran across the platform and hugged Harry tightly.  Ginny thought for a moment how lucky Hermione was to be able to touch him like that whenever she wanted.  Then she shook her head; it was just Hermione.  Harry apparently wasn't quite sure what to do: he raised his hands helplessly and let them fall back at his sides.  "Oh, I'm so glad you're _okay," she said, smiling._

"Hermione...."  Harry warned her off saying any more, and she nodded slightly and backed away.  Hermione glanced behind Harry, and caught sight of Ginny.  "It's good to see you, too, Ginny," she said warmly.

"Good to see you, too."  Ginny smiled back.

"_Good to see you, too, Ginny," Ron mimicked.  "Not even going to say hello to me, are you?"  He sounded put out._

Hermione set her mouth, giving what looked like a forced smile.  "Hello, Ron."

"'Lo, yourself."

There was an awkward pause.

"Well," said Hermione brightly, "let's go ahead and get on board, then."  She turned around and led the way to the train, Ron struggling with his trunk behind her.  Ginny couldn't help but snicker quietly.  No one other than Harry heard her, though; he met her eyes briefly, and it seemed to her that he was fighting a smile.

They loaded their trunks onto the train, and came out to say goodbye to Mrs. Weasley and Bill.  Bill told them he'd be in touch, and gave Ginny's hair a final yank.  Mrs. Weasley made the usual threats to the twins ("And you have your N.E.W.Ts this year, you might remember, so study some, please!"), and hugged Ron, Ginny, Hermione, and Harry tightly.  Harry she held a little longer than the rest.  

She released him reluctantly, and gave the four of them a slow look.  "Please be careful," she said.  "No heroics."  Her eyes seemed a little bright, and Ginny was again struck by just how _old her mother looked sometimes.  Mrs. Weasley gave a watery smile.  "Well, what are you waiting for, dears?  Get going, the train won't wait!"  She shooed them on board, and waved merrily to them through the windows._

"C'mon," Ron was saying to Harry and Hermione.  "I've got us a compartment up here."

Hermione shook her head.  "I have to go sit with the prefects," she told them.  Ron looked befuddled.

"But you _always sit with us," he said._

"Yes, well, I have to sit with the prefects now.  We have meetings," she answered primly.  "I'll see you all when we get to school, but I have to go now."  She turned and walked up towards the front of the train.

Ron gaped.  "Well, how do you like that?  'We have meetings,' my arse."  He scowled.  "Ruddy McGonagall.  We'd just got her to loosen up about rules a little, too."  Ron shook his head.  "C'mon, mate," he motioned towards the compartment.  "Guess it's just you and me, then."

"What about Ginny?"

Ginny, who had resigned herself to hunting for a group of non-offensive fourth years, started.  She certainly hadn't expected Harry to ask about her.

"Well, what about her?" Ron asked impatiently.  Ginny scowled.

"I'm right here, Ron," she said.  "You don't have to talk like I'm not, you know."  Ron opened his mouth to argue, and Harry jumped in to avoid a sibling dispute.

"Do you need a place to sit?" he asked quickly.  "Because we have plenty of room in our compartment, and I think most of the others are already full."

Ginny blinked.  _Well, that was certainly... nice.  "Erm, thanks," she said, feeling the blush rise in her face.  "That's nice of you."  __Way to sound intelligent, Ginny.  _

But for some reason, her mouth didn't stop there.  It just kept barreling right along.  "But I think I'm going to go and sit with my friends, actually--"   _I am?  "-- since I haven't seen them all summer and all, you know."  __No, I don't know.  Harry Potter just invited you to sit with him (and your brother, of course), and you said no.  Explain this to me._

Harry shrugged.  "All right," he said.  "See you at Hogwarts, then."  Ron pulled him into the compartment, and the door slid shut, leaving her on the other side.

Ginny sighed, and headed down the corridor to search for a seat.


	7. Chapter Seven

THG7

***

"...so the bloke tells him, 'I need help-- I feel like a pair of curtains!' and the doctor looks at him and says, 'Pull yourself together, man!'"

Ginny and the other girls groaned.  

"Please," begged Dolores, "Douglas, no more.  For my sanity's sake."  The curly-headed boy just grinned.

After leaving Harry and her brother to their own devices, Ginny had managed to find a compartment with some of her fellow fourth year Gryffindors.  The four of them-- Ann Dixon, Douglas O'Conner, Dolores Mejia, and she-- had all piled into one of the horseless carriages to make the last leg of the journey to Hogwarts, and Douglas seemed bound and determined to take advantage of his captive audience.

Ann nudged Ginny's elbow and muttered, "Do you think he'll keep it up _all_ the way to the castle?"

Ginny nodded surreptitiously.  "He didn't stop the whole train ride," she murmured.  "Why would he stop now?"  Ann sighed and rolled her eyes, but there was a tiny smile tickling the edges of her mouth.  Douglas's jokes were so very _bad_ that you really couldn't help but grin.  And that, of course, encouraged him.

"Hey, Ginny-- what do you call a flock of dead birds?"  Ginny covered her face with her hands.  _Make it stop, make it stop...._

"I don't know, Douglas," she said dully through her fingers.  "What _do you call a flock of dead birds?" _

"A poltergeese!" Douglas crowed.  "Get it?  A polter_geese_.  Like poltergeist, only--"

Dolores did them all a favor and gave him a sharp rap on the head with her wand.  "Ow," he said, rubbing his head.

"Next time, I'll hex you," Dolores threatened.  "Don't think I won't."

"I'll help," said Ann, twirling her wand through her fingers.

Douglas scowled.  "Remind me again why I hang around you guys?"

"Aesthetic reasons, obviously," Ginny deadpanned.  "You get to spend time with three of the most gorgeous girls at Hogwarts."  She tossed her braids over her shoulders, and Ann and Dolores batted their eyes.

"Ah."  Douglas spread his arms atop the back of the seat, looking like the cat that got the canary.  "I knew there was a reason."

Ginny enjoyed the rest of the ride to the castle.  She didn't have many close friends, but there was an easy camaraderie amid the four of them.  Certainly, Dolores was a little opinionated and bossy, and Ann was a bit of a shrinking violet, and Douglas was just-- well, Douglas, bad jokes and all-- but Ginny, joining in with the comfortable banter, realized just how much she had missed her friends over the summer.

Douglas was in the middle of another of his jokes when the carriage finally jolted to a halt outside the great oak doors of the castle.  "Thank _God," Dolores said, opening the door and leaping out.  "If I have to hear about another Japanese golfer--"_

Ann and Douglas followed, and Ginny jumped out last, taking a long look at the castle before walking to the doors.  There was something just solid and reassuring about Hogwarts-- it was a constant.  The grey stone walls were scarred and softly weathered by time: they had stood for over a thousand years, and they would stand for another age at least, if given the chance.  

Ginny shivered slightly, wrapping her robes closer around her.  There was a sharp edge of autumn on the evening breeze, and she walked quickly to the great doors to catch up with her friends.

"Miss Weasley!"

Ginny turned, recognizing the sharp tones of the Deputy Headmistress and Head of Gryffindor house.  Professor McGonagall stood at the doors, her face impassive.  Ginny wondered for a moment if she'd already managed to lose house points for breaking some obscure rule before going over to speak with her.

"Is something the matter, Professor?" she asked, trying not to sound too worried.  Professor McGonagall shook her head.

"No, nothing is wrong, Miss Weasley," she said, and Ginny relaxed a bit.  "I have been asked by Professor Dumbledore to inform you that you are to report to his office after the conclusion of tonight's feast.  I believe he wishes to speak to you, Miss Granger, and Mr. Potter.  He said it would not take much time."  

"Oh."  Ginny bit her lip.  _I wonder what can be this time,_ she thought.  _Unless it's just to catch Hermione up on what has happened-- but then, why not ask Ron to come, too?_

McGonagall interrupted Ginny's reverie.  "You know where the Headmaster's office is, I assume?" she asked.  Ginny nodded.  She'd been there her first year; it wasn't a place she was likely to forget.  "Good," said McGonagall.  "You'll find that the password is 'chocolate orange.'"  McGonagall twisted her face into a small smile.  "Now," she said, "I believe your friends are waiting on you, and I must go see to the first years."

"Thank you, Professor."  Ginny shook her head, and, ignoring the questions from her friends, headed in to the Great Hall.

***

"And... there's the new Professor for Defense Against the Dark Arts."  Dolores pointed to the dark-haired witch sitting next to Professor Flitwick.  "Right on schedule.  Although, I can't imagine why Professor Moody didn't come back this year.  He was _ages better than either that numbskull or the werewolf."_

"That's not fair, and you know it," Ginny hissed.  "Professor Lupin was a wonderful teacher.  He can't help what he is."  Dolores opened her mouth to argue, but Ann broke in, eager to prevent the argument that had played itself out between her friends so often she could recite it.

"I'm _glad Moody's gone," she said, shuddering.  "That eye of his gave me the willies."_

"CONSTANT VIGILENCE!" Douglas barked, and Ann gave a little squeal and jumped.  Ginny and Dolores snickered.

"For as many times as he did that to you last year, Ann, you'd think you'd learn to expect it," Ginny teased.

Ann sniffed.  "Well, I can't help that I don't have holy terrors for brothers, Ginny Weasley.  Not all of us are as inured as you."

"A truer word was never spoken."  Ginny raised her goblet in a mock salute just as the doors swung open, and McGonagall ushered in a herd of frightened-looking first years.

"Pfft.  This lot doesn't look up to snuff," whispered Dolores.  "_We were never that scared.  They all look like they've just seen a ghost!"_

"Well, they have," Ann pointed out judiciously.  She was right; the ghosts of each house were hovering just over their respective tables, and several of the first years looked utterly terrified by them.  "Besides," Ann continued in a low whisper, "You know the Muggle-borns have probably never seen one before."  Ginny wondered for a moment how many Muggle-borns were in this group; certainly, it couldn't be too many-- there didn't seem to be as many first years this term as there usually were.

Douglas, it seemed, had noticed the same thing.  "There aren't very many of them, are there?" he said, looking puzzled.  "I wonder why."

Ginny wondered, too, but didn't have time to pursue the thought as the Hat cleared its throat, and began the Sorting.

***

Douglas slumped forwards and rested his head on the table.  "I think you lot are going to have to roll me out of here," he groaned.

Ginny laughed, and hit him lightly on the head.  "Well, if you _will eat half a turkey--"_

"And a ham--" said Dolores.

"And three meat pies," added Ann.

"Right," Ginny tallied it up on her fingers.  "Half a turkey, a ham, three meat pies, potatoes, and two puddings.  If you _will_ eat like a starving ogre, then you're going to have to live with the stomach pains."

"Heartless fiends," Douglas moaned.

"That would be us," Dolores said dryly, standing up.  "We'd better get back to the Tower, before we miss out on the annual prefect power trip.  Say, Ginny," she said, turning to her friend.  "You know Hermione Granger's a prefect this year, right?"

"Is she?" asked Ann.  "Oooooh, she's going to be a strict one, I bet."

"Yes, but Ginny's a friend of hers, right?"  Dolores nudged the girl beside her.  "Surely you can get her to wave some of those silly little rules for us."  

Ginny shook her head.  "Hermione's really my brother's friend," she said.  "And she wouldn't even wave the rules for _him_."

"What about Potter, then?" asked Douglas.  "Aren't they...?"  His voice trailed off, and he raised his eyebrow.

"No!" Ginny said, a little too heatedly.  "Honestly, do you believe _everything you read?"  Her friends exchanged a quick glance.  "What I mean is," she said a little more convincingly, "they're just _friends_.  And anyway," she grinned, "I think Ron'd kill Harry if that were the case."_

"Ohhhh," said Dolores, smirking.  "I want to hear more about this later."  She glanced at her watch.  "But we're going to be late if we don't hurry."  She was right-- the Great Hall was nearly empty.  

"Oh!" Ginny exclaimed, suddenly remembering that she had somewhere else to be.  "I'll meet you all back at the Tower-- I have to go and-- do something."  And she sped out the door.

***

Ginny was panting by the time she reached the gargoyle that stood in front of the stairs to the Headmaster's office.  "Ch-- chocolate orange," she wheezed, trying to catch her breath.  She was lucky Filch hadn't seen her running through the halls; it would never do to earn a detention on her first day back at school.

The gargoyle grated and turned aside, and Ginny stepped up onto the moving staircase.  As the stairs wound closer to the top of the tower, she could hear voices drifting down.

"... Ginny to be late.  Do you think McGonagall told her?"  Hermione's precise voice echoed down the stairwell.

"She looked like she was busy with her friends at supper," Harry's voice answered.  "She probably just got distracted."  The stairs finally reached the top, and Ginny stepped guiltily into the room.

"Sorry I'm late," she apologized, looking around for Dumbledore.

Harry shrugged.  "He's not here yet," he said.  "Anyway, you're not late.  We were just early."  

"Oh."  Ginny shifted her feet.  "So, any idea why we're here?" she asked, looking at Hermione.

The brown-haired girl shook her head.  "I'm not sure.  I guess it has something to do with the attack," she ventured, glancing sideways at Harry.

"Why isn't Ron or Fred or George here, then?" Ginny wondered out loud.  "Dumbledore said he'd let us all know if there was something going on."

Harry shrugged again.  "Maybe it's not very important," he guessed, shoving his hands in his pockets.  "Ron's back in the common room, anyway.  He seemed a little put out."  Harry smirked a little as he said this, and Ginny was amused to hear Hermione give a quiet huff.

"I don't know why _he should be put out," she said pointedly, crossing her arms across her chest.  Harry's smirk grew more amused, and he glanced at Ginny, who grinned back.  Ginny opened her mouth to ask Hermione something more about Ron, just to watch her reaction, when Dumbledore entered the room._

"Ah.  Miss Granger, Miss Weasley, Mr. Potter-- thank you for coming so promptly.  We shall make this quick so that you may return to your friends," he said in a business-like manner, rustling around in a cabinet next to his desk.  He turned brought out a small brass key, and opened a compartment in the back.  He brought forth an inkwell, a deep red quill, and a weathered old scroll that Ginny recognized.

Hermione seemed mesmerized.  "The Scroll of the Order," she said, her voice hushed.

Dumbledore beamed.  "Very good, Miss Granger.  You have done your research."  He unrolled the Scroll, and Ginny bit her lip as she saw her name stand out on the gold parchment, red as blood.  Hermione's forehead wrinkled, and she glanced curiously at Ginny.  Dumbledore continued, unperturbed.  "This Scroll contains the names and promises of the members of the Order of the Phoenix," he said.  "Miss Weasley and her brothers have already signed, as have many others.  I would ask the two of you to think long and hard before you add your names," Dumbledore instructed.  "This is no promise to be given lightly."  

Harry and Hermione nodded, and Hermione stepped forward to take the quill.  "It's '_Me Libente Datare'_ isn't it?" she asked, looking at the Headmaster.  He nodded, and Hermione bent her head as she scratched out the words in her neat handwriting.  She signed her name, and the words flashed gold and sank into the page.  Hermione looked pleased with herself, but Harry just looked puzzled.

"Then why is--"  He scratched his head, and Ginny wished she could sink into the floor.  _He must be wondering why my signature didn't disappear like Hermione's.  Harry didn't seem to be too concerned about it, though, as he shook his head and took hold of the quill._

Harry began to write out the unfamiliar phrase-- but paused at the end of the first word.  He looked tense, and somehow pained-- his face was pale, and his breathing was rapid in the silent room.  Ginny held her breath.  He bit his lip, and with a look of concentration, finished the phrase and signed his name.

She was not at all surprised when the writing flashed gold, but did not fade.

Harry looked down at his scarlet signature, crossing his arms quickly across his chest.  "Why is my name still there?" he asked.  "Hermione's..." he trailed off, looking to the Headmaster for an explanation.  

Dumbledore smiled slightly, "I believe Miss Weasley can answer that question for you, if you wish," he said easily, rolling up the Scroll.  Harry looked over at Ginny, and she once again wished the floor would open up and swallow her.  "Miss Granger," the Headmaster said, turning to Hermione after placing the Scroll back in the cabinet.  "I trust that you have duties to attend to in Gryffindor Tower?"

Hermione straightened her back.  "Yes, sir," she answered.  "Shall I go on back, then?" she asked, taking the gentle hint.

"Yes, thank you," Professor Dumbledore said politely.  "Miss Weasley and Mr. Potter will not be far behind you."  Hermione nodded and bid the Headmaster a good night before leaving.

"Now," said Professor Dumbledore, turning to face the two remaining students, "we come to the point.  I believe that I earlier mentioned the connection to the Balance each of you has."  Ginny nodded, feeling somehow awkward that this had to be discussed in front of Harry.  "You both understand how very rare it is that there are two conduits at once, and how important it is that we understand more about what this means in relation to Voldemort's return."  Dumbledore paused.  "Particularly as each of you is in some way connected to him."  Ginny thought of the two scarlet signatures side by side on the Scroll..

"I would greatly encourage the two of you to compare class schedules and determine a regular time that is convenient for the both of you to meet, and spend that time studying what you can find about the Balance.  It may be important that we know about any previously recorded cases similar to this."  

"Sir," Ginny interrupted, "Will there be a professor there to help us?"

Dumbledore shook his head.  "I am sorry, no."  Ginny could feel a flush rising in her cheeks.  _All right.  This is going to involve being alone with Harry for extended periods of time.  No problem. She willed the blood in her cheeks to go away.  __I can do this.  "If you have any questions, of course," the Headmaster continued,  "I am certain that members of the staff would not object to aiding you-- but I would prefer it if you did not mention the reasons behind your studies.  If you have any concerns that no one seems able to respond to, you might try writing to Professor Lupin, however," he added.  "I believe he did some reading on the Old Ways after leaving Hogwarts." _

"And Harry," Dumbledore said, turning to face the pale-faced boy, "I'm afraid you will have a difficult term, as far as your schedule goes."

"Why, sir?" Harry asked, absentmindedly playing with his right sleeve.

"Well, Mr. Potter," Dumbledore said with a smile, "I assume that Gryffindor will want their Seeker in top shape, and I understand that means many practices."  Harry's eyes lit up, and Ginny fought to keep herself from grinning at his obvious joy.  

"Quidditch?  It's starting up again?  Really?"  Harry's face nearly split in two with the first real smile anyone had seen for weeks.  "Does everyone know already?" he asked.

The Headmaster chuckled.  "Yes, Quidditch matches are to take place as usual.  And the Heads of House have no doubt told their students that by now."  He glanced at his watch, and Ginny saw that it read Jupiter and Io a quarter past Mars.  "And it is time for the two of you to return to Gryffindor, I believe."  Dumbledore walked them to the staircase.  "Have a pleasant evening, and good luck on your studies."

***

They were halfway back to Gryffindor before either one said a word; Ginny because she was trying desperately to think of something to say that wouldn't be inane, and Harry because he was already busy devising Quidditch strategies in his head.

_I haven't really played in a year and a half_, he mused.  _And there's no Oliver this year.  Weird.  I wonder who'll be Captain?  And we don't have a--_

"Keeper," Harry groaned.  There was a slight echo, and he blinked.  _That was out loud?_  Apparently it was, because Ginny, walking beside him, smirked.

"You're as bad as Ron," she said, shaking her head.

"What?" Harry asked, perplexed.

"Ten to one you've been thinking about Quidditch this whole time."

Harry blinked.  "And how would you know that?"  

She gave a half smile.  "You haven't stopped grinning since Dumbledore mentioned it."  _Oh.  So I need to work on my poker face.  She sped up her pace a little.  "You know," she said, "Douglas O'Conner plays Keeper."_

"The fourth year?"  Harry matched his pace to hers.  "Is he any good?"

Ginny shrugged.  "Douglas is a lot of talk," she said.  "But I've heard he's pretty decent."

Harry shook his head.  "We need better than pretty decent," he said, frustrated.  "We need someone _great, someone with __skill, someone who makes it look __easy--"  He punctuated the words with emphatic gestures._

Ginny stopped.  "_Harry_--"  She sounded horrified.

"What?" Harry began to ask, and saw where her eyes were drawn.  His left hand, which until now had been held firmly over his right elbow, was slick with blood.  _Damn.  Harry smiled uncomfortably, and recrossed his arms.  "It's okay, really, Ginny," he tried to convince her._

"No, it's _not," she said, going pale.  "It's all over your robes-- __Harry--"  Her eyes met his searchingly.  "It's from the curse wound, isn't it?" she asked.  And, not waiting for an answer, she bent closer to his arm and tried to draw the sleeve of his robe away.  _

Harry jerked his arm back.  "I'm _fine," he said sharply.  Ginny looked up, and for a moment Harry thought he was in for a tongue-lashing to rival Mrs. Weasley.  But instead, Ginny stepped back, her face falling.  She didn't say anything-- just began walking steadily down the corridor._

Harry felt like banging his head repeatedly against the stone walls, for some reason.

He sighed and followed her.  "Ginny--" he attempted, but he wasn't sure what to say after that.  And she didn't seem to have any great ideas, either.  She just made a sort of sniffing, swallowing sort of noise, and Harry wondered for a moment if she was crying.  It was hard to tell in the torchlight.

"I'm sorry," he heard her say clearly, turning to face him.  _So she's not crying then.  Harry was relieved. __ He had no idea what to do when Hermione cried, and even less of an idea when it came to other girls._

He shook his head.  "It's my fault," he said.  "I shouldn't have yelled at you."  There was a long silence as they went up the staircase to the seventh floor.  _Well, isn't this awkward.  Mutual apology club, anyone?_

"Don't get mad at me, Harry," Ginny said suddenly, "but--- when did it start bleeding again?  When you signed the Scroll?" she asked.

Harry stared.  "How did you know that?"  He gripped his injured arm a little tighter.

Ginny shrugged, not looking at him.  "You looked like it hurt when you signed, and you'd had your arms crossed since then."  _Definitely have to work on the poker face. _She glanced at him out of the corner of her eye.  "And your signature was like mine."  She said this quickly and quietly, almost as though she hoped he wouldn't hear.

They stopped outside the common room entrance.  "You know why it didn't fade, then," Harry said.  It wasn't a question.

She nodded, and told him briefly what Dumbledore had explained to her.  "So part of-- Tom-- is still in me," she said quietly.  She didn't meet his eyes, and Harry wasn't quite certain of what to say.  Thankfully, he didn't have to worry about it for long, as Ginny straightened her shoulders and continued.  "I'd bet that the reason your name didn't fade is because He-Who--" she corrected herself,  "because Voldemort tried to kill you and couldn't, and he's somehow still there, in you."

Harry nodded; it made sense.  Dumbledore had told him at the end of his second year that Voldemort might have transferred some of his powers to him inadvertently when he attacked the Potters at Godric's Hollow-- it was very likely that the Scroll could sense that in him.  

The Fat Lady coughed discreetly in her frame, and Harry came out of his reverie.  

"Well--" 

"I guess--"  

"You first,"  Harry said.

Ginny chuckled and shook her head.  "Do you know the password?" she asked.  "I sort of wasn't listening when the prefects mentioned it at supper."

"Hermione'll hate to hear that."  Harry grinned, and shuffled around in his pockets.  "I wrote it down, somewhere--  Ah.  Here."  He glanced at the slip of paper and handed it to her, turning to give the password. 

"Wait a moment."  Ginny laid her hand on his good arm, stopping him.  "Please," she said, "if your arm hasn't stopped bleeding by tomorrow morning-- or it gets any worse-- go see Madam Pomfrey.  Please?"  She looked very serious, and didn't look away until he nodded.  "All right, then," she said, and let go.

"Kneazle," they said together, and the portrait swung open.

***

Ginny barely paused to say goodnight to Ron and Hermione, who were glaring openly at each other across Ron's chessboard, and went straight to the fourth year girls' dormitory.  She needed some time to think, and not listen to the Amazing Bickering Duo.  She had just spent nearly an hour in Harry's company and, aside from the rebellious flush of her cheeks and that silly thing where she nearly cried-- (_Stupid, stupid, stupid thing to do, Ginny.)  --aside from __that, she really hadn't behaved badly._

_I think._

The girls' dormitory was bright and cheerful, and full of the sound of girls laughing.  Ginny pushed the door open, only to be promptly hit in the head with a flying plush dragon.

"She returns!"  Dolores smiled.  "We thought you'd got lost, or stuck in a trap stair, or abducted by Slytherins," she said.

"Good to see you were sending out a search party, then," Ginny said, picking up the fuzzy green dragon.  "What's his name?" she asked as she tossed the toy back to Dolores.

Ginny heard a snicker from the first bed on her left, where two more of her roommates sat.  Jillian Scott and Emily Westing were both Very Grown Up And Important, and Ginny tolerated them the way one ignores some particularly garish wallpaper.

Ann rolled her eyes, and patted a spot on the mattress next to Dolores and her.  "I don't think he has a name," Dolores mused as Ginny sat down.  "Poor old thing."

"He _has to have a name," Ann declared.  "It isn't fitting for a dragon to be nameless.  The others would laugh at him."_

"I agree," Ginny said solemnly.  "Any ideas?"  The girls thought for a moment.

Finally, Dolores gave a sly grin.  "I know.  His name is Charlie."  

"Perfect," said Ann, smiling mischievously.

Ginny waited a beat before saying, "You're naming him after my brother?"  Her friends nodded.  "I'm somehow disturbed by this," she said, raising an eyebrow.  Ann and Dolores had pestered her about Charlie for months after meeting him at the First Task, dropping hints that she should invite them both over to the Burrow the next time he was home.

"His name is Charlie, and that's that," Dolores said, hugging the dragon tight enough to make the button eyes bug out.  "Anyway, where were you?  You just ran off after dinner," she observed.

"Is everything all right?" Ann asked, concerned.  "You seemed a little frazzled."  It had been Ann, during Ginny's first year, who had noticed her gradual withdrawal, and it was she who woke Ginny up from the nightmares, still.  Ginny had never told Ann the real reason behind her restless nights, but she seemed content not to press for details, for which Ginny was profoundly grateful.  

"Everything's fine, Ann," Ginny said, very nearly meaning it.  "I just had to meet with Dumbledore about something, and I almost forgot to go."

"About what?" Dolores asked.  _Erm.  Good question....  Think fast, Ginny._

"Oh...."  Ginny said vaguely, "Just something about my schedule."  Inspired, she added, "I'm supposed to tutor someone this term, and I had to figure out when I could fit it into my class schedule."  _That's not completely a lie, anyway._

"Who are you tutoring?" Ann asked, grabbing a blanket and wrapping it around her shoulders.  "And what subject?"

"Obviously not Charms," Dolores snickered.  Ginny rolled her eyes.  _Honestly.  Make one simple mistake with an Incendio charm, and you'll hear about it for the rest of your life.  _

"Very funny, Mejia."  Ginny glared.  "If you must know, it's History of Magic.  And I think the student's in Hufflepuff."

Dolores wrinkled her nose.  "Sounds thrilling beyond belief."

Ginny shrugged.  "I really don't mind."

Their conversation was cut short by a sudden outbreak of high-pitched giggles-- Emily and Jillian were pouring over the latest issue of _Witch Weekly_, and had apparently found the results of the quiz they had taken entertaining.

"Ah, but it's good to be back," Ann said, smiling and shaking her head.  And Ginny had to agree.


End file.
